Redemption
by marvellouswords
Summary: When an extremely troubled Callie finds herself in Haven Falls, a facility for young girls struggling with mental health issues, her denial is more evident than her presence. But the longer she stays, the more she learns about herself. Being Callie, she never makes things easy for herself, but with the help of the Fosters, will she learn to trust again and move past this hard time?
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! This is my first time writing for The Fosters, although I have been reading fics from this archive for a while. Countless ideas came to my head, but I wanted to try something a little different. I must warn you that there are various references to self-harm, so if you are triggered easily then please keep that in mind. _

_Just some quick background on the story: it's set just after episode 1x10, where Callie finds out she lost the rape trial to Liam. As of yet, she hasn't had any romantic interactions with Brandon, however the two are growing closer. _

_ I hope you enjoy..._

* * *

You notice a lot of things when you don't say anything.

You notice the way people walk. The way they move, and the way they act around other people.

You also notice how they pretend to act like they care, when they really don't. It's obvious by the twitch on their face as they try to act empathetic; the haziness in their eyes as they force a smile.

I'd noticed that about a lot of the nurses here, or 'attendants' as they preferred to be called.

They think I'm crazy, I know they do. I've seen the way they look at me, their faces painted with concern at first, but when they look at me, when they learn what I am, the disgust is evident.

I know I shouldn't care; I know it's stupid to be bothered about something like this when everything else is going on, but there's something different about this place than anywhere else I'd been before. I want to do good. I want to get out of here - I need to get out of here. For me _and_ Jude.

I sit at the plastic table - the edges are rounded so we don't 'hurt' ourselves - and watch as the other girls push their food around their plates, unwilling to put the rubbery pasta in their mouths. I don't blame them, to be honest. Eating disorder or no eating disorder, I wouldn't want to go anywhere near that revolting looking stuff.

I look down at my food. I finished the potato, but only because I knew if I didn't, my privileges would be revoked. A part of me is screaming not to comply, not to give in to this crappy system that the facility is making me do. But I have to, if I don't, I'll be deemed a psycho and I'll never see Jude again. Keep your head down, tell them what they want to hear and get out - it's the plan I've been living by since I was brought here.

The Fosters won't want me anymore, not after what I did, but I can't dwindle on that thought. That was what brought me here, after all.

A loud bell signals the end of lunch, and I sigh in relief that I can finally stand up and leave the table. The lunchroom is stuffy and smells just as bad as the food tastes, not to mention the constant buzz of screaming kids who just can't seem to get along. I vowed when they brought me here that I'd keep to myself. I don't need anybody. Nobody can make this any easier, despite what the therapist, Dr Ashford, says.

I look around the sterile room, trying to figure out what to do next. That's the thing about this place; they don't let you do anything unsupervised. Although I don't see them, I know there's an attendant watching me. That's what they told me when they brought me here. They told me not to try anything, not to make a ruckus, because that would only land me in isolation. A padded cell, more like, I'd thought to myself, as I tried to wipe the image out my antsy mind.

I hate that they think I'm a threat to others. They have to know that I don't intend to hurt anyone. Not unless they give me a reason to. And if you were me, I'm sure some sleazy, greasy drunk of a foster dad beating your brother would make it OK to get involved.

According to the system, it wasn't. Neither was the fact that they thought I'd been trying to kill myself.

I take my steps one at a time, the tatted converse I'd come here in squeaking on the linoleum floor. The sound makes my skin prickle.

If I'd counted correctly, it will be a week tomorrow since it happened. A week on Friday since I'd woken up in the bright, airy hospital room, dazed from blood loss and my ribs feeling more than a little achy from the emergency CPR someone had given me - the do-gooder had been inexperienced, obviously. My cracked ribs were enough to tell me that.

They didn't care about the ribs, though. They looked at me, a look of care and anguish in their eyes at first, almost fooling me into believing they were concerned. But I should have known that from the moment I was to wake up, I'd become my file.

I told myself not to care. It didn't matter who judged me anymore; I had Stef and Lena now. They wouldn't let anyone take me away, right?

Wrong.

I fix my eye on a girl in the corner of the room. She looks no older than twelve, almost the same age as Jude. She's tiny, though, tinier than anyone I've ever seen in my life. Her head almost looks as if it's too heavy for her skeletal body to carry, her golden locks chopped short, as if to stop the sadness of having to watch them fall out. She makes patterns on the table with her lead thin fingers, engrossed in her own world.

The girl looks up, as if she can feel me watching her. Her bright blue eyes flush prominently against her frail, thin skin. She offers a hopeful smile, pausing her invisible game on the table.

I try to smile, I really do. But nothing happens, as if the muscles required to move my lips into a half cheerful curve have somehow taken a temporary leave of absence.

The girl looks away when she gets no response.

I release a breath, ignoring the sting in my ribs as air puffs out if my mouth. I look around again, spotting the girls from the table I had been sitting at finally clearing away their half-eaten lunches. I wait for them to go up ahead, to wander down the corridor chattering seamlessly so I can follow them, just to have somewhere to go. I can't remember what's on schedule this afternoon, but I doubt it'll involve anything to satisfy my longing desperation to feel a sharp slice on the inside of my wrist and experience the pleasurable sensation of dark blood trickling through my fingers.

I could try, if I wanted to. If my desire to feel something was so strong, I know I could find a way. I always did, after all. It wouldn't be hard to find something sharp enough to break skin here. I could hide it under the mattress in the room I'd been assigned. It was actually finding somewhere to do the task itself that would require a little extra thinking. I've done plenty of that the past week: thinking. I've barely said one word to anyone since I've been here. It's for the best, though. I can't afford to let anyone drag me down in here. I have to stay alert; I can't let anything cloud my judgement.

"Callie."

At first, I'm not sure if I'm imagining it. I haven't made an effort to speak to anyone in here and it appears the others had respected my wishes. Until now.

Maybe it's this crazy medication they have me on. Maybe it's making me hallucinate.

"That is your name, isn't it?"

I turn around abruptly, surprised to find myself standing in the middle of the hallway between the lunchroom and the day room. I don't remember making my way here.

When I see the girl, her green eyes staring down at me as if I smell like puke, my breathing picks up.

The words ring in a familiar memory from the past, panicking me enough to make breathing difficult. I squeeze my eyes shut in desperation, pleading with all my might for the thoughts to stay tucked in the corner of my mind. I can deal with them later, when I'm stuck in that doorless room laying on a mattress made of hard foam. ("springs are a risk to your safety," the withered looking attendant had said when I'd glanced at the bed suspiciously the day they'd brought me here.) It isn't comfortable in the least, and it only increases the healing time of my busted ribs. But that doesn't matter: I'm not planning on staying here long enough to want to be comfortable.

I peel my eyes open. The girl stands a metre away from me, her face scrunched up in some god awful way that reminds me faintly of the dog in foster home number two. The same dog that almost bit Jude when he'd tried to pet it. I didn't like that dog, and I don't think I like this girl much, either.

"What do you want?"

The sound of my own voice almost surprises me. I haven't used it in almost a week and it's become tight and raspy. I cough to clear my dry throat, while the girl watches me like a hawk. She looks almost scared, like she's recalling the rumours she heard those dumb nurses gossiping about in the hallway. That I'm not just a threat to myself, I'm a threat to others, too.

_It's not true_, I tell myself, to sacrifice the little self-worth I have left.

But she wouldn't know that. It's not exactly like I've tried to stand up for myself and dispel the charade of lies going about this place. It's almost worse than when I started Anchor Beach High.

"You were missing from group. They sent me to get you." The girl turns on her heel and begins to walk down the hall, expecting me to follow.

I do, despite the fact my heart is telling me to run. Run far away from this place. _It's stopping you being with Jude and protecting him like you promised mom._

I shake my head from side to side, aware that I must look like a crazy person, but I need the thoughts and lingering voices to disappear. I have to get through this group session; it's the only way I'll be able to prove that I'm not a head case and get the hell out of here.

I watch as the girl waddles from side to side down the hallway. Her fingers tap against her legging clad thighs as she walks. She looks jittery, as if she's trying to distract herself from something. Maybe she's an addict, anxiously awaiting her fix of withdrawal medication. I imagine her sitting in the med room, her eyes twitching and limbs trembling in anticipation of getting her fix, only a fraction of the buzz she used to get.

As the image fades away, I feel unjust. She is a drug addict, killing herself every time she dopes up. All I do is release a little tension every now and then by dragging a razor across my skin, nothing enough to seriously harm myself or others. Yet she's the one who gets relief, she's the one who gets a little of her addiction every day to help her by, while I sit and fight the urge not to stab myself with a plastic kiddie fork.

This system is messed up.

Soon enough we arrive at the familiar plastic push door to the hall. I peer in the window and spot the usual layout of chairs in a circle, which I hate. I hate people looking at me, judging my every flaw, but it's not just that: in a circle it's impossible to hide.

"Ah, Callie. Glad to see you're finally joining us."

The voice comes from Sandy, an older woman who runs the group therapy sessions. She has short, grey hair, and her lipstick is always too pink to be pretty. I shrug and take the only seat available in the circle, dreading the hour that is to follow.

I tune out as the other girls talk about their issues and their achievements of the day, one girl chirping excitedly as she tells us she managed to eat a blueberry muffin and didn't feel like throwing up. They all clap, while I close my eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here.

I think of Jude, wondering what he might be doing right now. The clock on the wall says it's just past 1pm. He'll probably still be at school, finishing his lunch with Connor and dreading attending his afternoon math class. God, I miss him so much. I've never been apart from him for this long before and all I want to do is to take him in my arms and never let go. I need him - I need him so I can be strong again.

I know I shouldn't worry about him. He'll be perfectly safe with the Fosters. They're good people, they wouldn't hurt Jude, would they? No. They were going to adopt us, they wanted us. He'll be safe, and he's probably forgotten all about me already. Good. It's better that way. He deserves to be adopted; to have a family. And that's something I could never give him, in this 'asylum' or not.

An hour later, I begin to fidget. I've noticed that over the past few days, whenever I think about Jude or the Fosters, I start to feel uncomfortable. I remember things I tried it block out and begin to breathe regret. Why did I have to mess this up for him. Why did I have to mess this up for _us_?

I close my eyes, breathing heavily as I try to ignore the sting in my ribs. If I had a blade, I would have done it by now. I just feel so damn angry and frustrated that I'm locked in here when I should be looking out for Jude. I failed him once again.

I can envision myself sitting in the upstairs bathroom of Stef and Lena's house now. Piercing through my ivory skin, watching as the split wells with little bubbles of blood, then wiping away the evidence.

I hadn't done it since we'd been living with the Olmsted's. But seeing him again, _feeling_ his grip on me. That had pushed me over the edge.

Then the night of the trial, I'd gone further, exploring parts of my body I'd never dreamed of punishing before. His words came back to me, filling me up with self-hatred and absolute anger. At first, it was okay. I felt the pain as I dug a little deeper into my flesh, further than I'd gone before, but I could handle it. Soon, though, it became second nature - I was numb to it, and numb to just how much damage I was causing my tender skin.

"Would you like to share today, Callie?"

I peel open my eyes and look up to see the group of girls looking at me expectantly. I shake my head no, before looking down to my lap and fusing with the creases in my shirt.

My attention is fixed firmly on my sterile clothing until something one of the other girls says catches my attention. "...for visiting day, and my sister is coming home from Columbia to see me, and I'm so, like, nervous but I'm kind of excited, you get what I mean? Yeah and -"

"Visiting day?" I interrupt, snapping my head towards Sandy.

The group falls silent, each of them looking at me with surprised eyes, their jaws in their laps.

"Yes, here at Haven Falls we have visiting day every Friday, isn't that right, girls?"

"Yup. If your parents are coming, you should ask them to bring you some clean clothes because it's starting to get old seeing you wear those scrubs around here all the time. Blue is so _not_ your colour," A skinny brunette says, causing the others to laugh, but I'm frozen in my spot.

If there's visiting day, then I'll get to see Jude. I couldn't care less about the colour of the stupid clinic-issued clothes I'd been wearing all week, if there was a chance I could get to see Jude, I'd wear those blue scrubs for the rest of my life.

The group resumes talking, as I think of a way to be able to contact Stef and Lena. Did they even know when visiting day was? Would they even bring Jude to see me? The questions rushing through my head are endless, and I'm glad when Sandy raises from her chair and dismisses us for the day.

As the other girls leave, I hang around the hall, hoping to catch Sandy's attention before she hops off to another ward.

"Oh, Hi Callie. Everything alright?" She says as she packs a folder into her purse.

"Yes. I mean no. I-"

Sandy looks at me sceptically, raising her eyebrow at my flustered attempt to speak. It's still a foreign feeling having not said a word to anyone in days.

"I was just wondering about visiting day? I'm not sure if my moms - I mean my foster moms - know about it all, and I really, really have to see my brother. He'll be wondering where I am, he's only twelve and I know he'll be scared without me so, I, um, kind of really need to make sure they're bringing him on Friday."

Sandy's eyes softened for a moment, processing my nervous train wreck of an explanation, before sighing softly. "Callie, it's really great that you want to look out for your brother, it's a good quality to have, and I'm sure he's lucky to have you because you seem like a really nice girl. But remember, you're here to get better. You need to focus on you for a while-"

"No, you don't understand. I _need_ to see him! I can't get better until I know he is okay. I need to tell him that I'm sorry for leaving him!" I plead, my voice crazed. I'm losing it. This is exactly the kind of behaviour that gets you strapped up in a straightjacket.

"Okay, okay," Sandy replies, raising her hands in defence.

Relief passes through my body like a shockwave. I'm going to see Jude. "Is there a phone or something I can use to make sure they know when to come?"

"I'm sorry, Callie, but phone calls aren't permitted for guests at an early stage of treatment like you, but as far as I know, your foster parents should have received the brochure for Haven Falls' and that'll tell them all about visiting day. I'm sure they'll come if they aren't busy that day."

My heart sinks. There was no assurance that the moms would bring Jude to see me, especially if they hadn't read the stupid leaflet. Maybe as soon as I was taken away from the hospital they forgot about me. They probably trashed that brochure and would be happy enough to leave me in this loony bin to rot.

I don't really expect them to care, though. I saw their faces when I woke up in that yellow hospital room. I'm a burden to them, a situation that they don't have time or money to deal with. Thankfully they hadn't sent away the adoption papers yet, or else this place would be costing them a fortune.

That's when I do what I do best. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and thank Sandy for her help silently before walking out the room. It takes everything in me not to scream; not to tear down those stupid motivational posters that line the walls of the stagnant hallway; not to search the corners of rooms for discarded thumbtacks. Instead I make my way to my doorless bedroom and huddle myself against the far wall, letting the tears come for the first time since I was admitted here. I won't get my hopes up. I won't let myself break.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot to me. This _is_ going to be a multi-chaptered story, and I do have a plans for the next few chapters. I can tell you now there will be a lot of drama, along with a lot of insight into the way Callie thinks, and how her relationship will develop with the Fosters. _

_I am, however, interested in what you think, and what you would like to see in this story. If you leave me a review telling me your thoughts then maybe I can incorporate some of your ideas into future chapters. _

_Thanks again! - K. _


	2. Chapter 2

I awake with a start to the sound of squeaking shoes out in the hallway. I sit up from my perch against the dresser and stretch out my stiff neck. The room has grown dark since I've been asleep and long, black shadows fall across the linoleum floor, cutting shapes of ragged monsters, the kind of thing that used to terrify Jude when he was younger.

Standing up is more difficult than I had anticipated. My body is sore from laying in such an awkward position on the hard floor for so long, and my ribs still ache. My head is pounding from my lapse of crying I did earlier and my stomach growls, demanding food.

What I would give to inhale the smell of Lena's cooking from the Foster's kitchen. I hate myself for not appreciating the little things more, because now that they're gone, I miss them more than anything.

Shaking all thoughts of the Foster's aside, I walk over to the small, grated window in the far corner of the room and pull the curtains over. Its pitch black outside, and it suddenly dawns on me that I've missed dinner. Why didn't anyone come and find me? I've never been left alone for this long throughout my entire stay, surely someone had to have checked up on me at some point.

I'm glad whoever it was let me sleep; I wasn't in a good state of mind earlier. The prospect of not knowing whether I'd get to see Jude frightened me, and tore me apart more than I had prepared for. If I want to survive here, just like when I had spent my time in juvie, I need to toughen up.

I glance over to the two neatly made beds in the room. Only one has been slept in; I'm not allowed to be placed in a communal room until the therapist revokes the 'high risk' label from my case. But I don't mind, really. I prefer being alone than having to share with one of the girls who quite obviously think I'm crazy.

The bed tempts me, almost to the point where I'm about to give in and fall back asleep again, but before I can even process my own thoughts, I see a figure standing by the doorway in my peripheral vision.

"Callie."

It's Dr Ashford. I can tell straight away by the soft tone of voice she uses to say my name.

I look up, meeting the therapist's brown eyes. She looks tired, like she didn't get enough sleep last night. My mind wanders, imagining her sitting at home, stressing over unresolved cases – people like me – while trying to balance a drooling toddler on her hip and negotiate with a seven year old gap-toothed kid begging for candy.

She takes a step into the room, but stops when she notices my body stiffen. I've only had one session with her since I came here, and she had done most of the talking. She seems nice enough, but I'm not sure if I can trust her. I've been off my game lately, my guard has been down for way too long and I can't risk creating more mess by trusting the wrong people.

_Just like you did with Stef and Lena._

"Callie, can we talk? Is it okay if I come in?"

I void my face of all emotion and tilt my head slightly to the side, letting her know that it's okay for her to enter. I have to play by the rules, it's my quickest way out of here.

Dr Ashford takes a seat on the edge of the farthest bed, her back straight and tall, just like Lena always tells Jude to do. "_You don't want to end up like Mr King, the American History teacher now, do you?" _I smile inwardly, recalling Jude's laugh at Lena's joke.

"I heard you were late to group today," The doctor says, bringing me back to present. I try to grasp her mood, but her voice is even; professional. Something tells me she isn't just here for a friendly chat.

I fumble with the edge of my shirt awkwardly, not sure how to respond, and hope that she will do the talking for both of us.

I can feel her stare on me as she continues. "And Sandy told me about what happened at the end, when you mentioned visiting day."

I look up then, confused as to what she's trying to say. Has she contacted Stef and Lena? Are they going to bring Jude to see me? Maybe they could bring Mariana and Jesus, too! Maybe even Brandon could come, and we could hang out like before.

But the look on her face wipes away my sudden inner burst of excitement, and I wait for her to say the words I'd been anticipating from the start.

"Callie, from what I've observed and from discussing with the other attendants here at Haven Falls, we're not sure you're ready for visitors yet; mentally or emotionally."

My heart stops. "No. You don't understand, I have to see Jude. I have to talk to my brother!" My voice wavers and I curse myself for lowering my guard. I won't cry – I won't.

If the therapist is shocked my sudden voice, then she doesn't show it. She'd be a tough competition for me to be up against for keeping a straight face, and I've had almost a decade of practice.

"Callie, I _do_ understand you, more so than you think. It's really in your best interest that we postpone your visiting day. I think it would knock us a step back in your progress–"

"What _progress_?!" I cry, louder than I had intended. I don't care, though. She already think's I'm a freak, why not confirm her predictions? "I haven't done anything here but eat, sleep and be watched like a hawk! What good is this doing me? How is this making me better when I'd feel far more comfortable in my own home surrounded by my family?"

"Callie, you need to calm down before you do something you regret. You're not in control right now, you're upset, and frustrated, but you–"

"Of course I'm upset! This is _so_ unfair, I haven't done anything wrong!" The tears flow freely down my flushed cheeks, and breathing becomes difficult through my disjointed sobs. "You can't do this! I want to talk to Stef and Lena; I want my _moms_!"

She looks at me, and for the first time really sees me. Her hard stare finally softening as she takes in my hysterical stance and tear stained face.

"I need to see them," I choke, pressing my hands firmly to my eyes to stop the tears from falling. "Please."

The therapist stays silent, as if she's making a mental note about our encounter in her mind to add to my file later. The file that is filled with half-truths about my life, and doesn't do me half the justice it should. I hate that file; I always have. It has disadvantaged me in every foster home I've ever been in, yet fails to mention the times those homes disadvantaged me. Disadvantaged us.

Jude.

My mind flashes back to the last time I saw him before I was taken here. It was the night of the trial. Liam had won, and I looked like a silly little girl who had been in too far over my head. It had taken all my confidence to go through with the trial in the first place, but losing had been what truly defeated me.

I hated that people didn't see what a monster he was; to them, Liam was still Mr Innocent – the man who could do no wrong.

But he had. If I hadn't already been broken before Jude and I moved into the Olmsted's, I certainly was after that first night he came into my bedroom.

His smile was comforting at first to my sleepy mind, and I was excited to see the man who had taken time to know me like no one else had done ever before. I used to love the way he made me feel, the way he would treat me like I was his little secret, holding my hand when his parents couldn't see and sneaking candy bars into my schoolbag, just so I'd be reminded of him.

But as his hands began roaming to places no fifteen year old girl should be touched, my heartbeat increased and I was enveloped in fear.

"Liam, I don't want to," I'd said shakily, hoping he would remove his hands from inside my shirt and we'd go back to our usual banter-filled relationship that almost resembled real siblings.

But Liam's grip on my breasts only increased, and his voice tightened in frustration. "Oh, come on Callie. You _know_ you want this."

I didn't. I didn't want this at all. I was fifteen, and definitely not ready to have sex with anyone, never mind a twenty year old man.

"Please. Don't do this!"

But my pleads went unheard as Liam undid the belt on his jeans and licked his lips hungrily. My struggling was useless under his strong grip on my shoulder, his touch hard enough to leave raw bruises and sharp slices where his fingernails dug into my skin.

"Shut up, you little bitch," he spat, gripping my hair tightly as he prodded his way around my body. "You wouldn't want anyone to hear, would you? Then you and Jude would be sent away, and no one will ever treat you as well as I do, especially after they know what kind of girl you are."

I felt my limbs trembling throughout the ordeal, his hands gripping me tighter whenever I tried to pull away. Of course, it was no use. So I closed my tearful eyes and let him get on with it, allowing him to control me because I simply had no energy to fight.

Just like when I told Mrs Olmsted what he'd done to me, and they proceeded to throw Jude and I out, believing their monster of a son over me. Who would blame them, though? Nobody ever believes the trashy foster kid.

And when he'd come back – just when I was getting off to a fresh start at Anchor Beach – I knew that I would never be able to escape his grasp; physically and mentally.

I look up, my body shaking like a crazy person as I take in my surroundings. Dr Ashford isn't perched on the bed anymore, she's standing by the door, looking down the hall frantically.

God knows how long I've been standing there wrapped up in my thoughts, but I bet it was long enough for her to think I was having a breakdown.

I glance around the room and catch sight of myself in the mirror. My face is red and puffy from crying, my eyes bloodshot and my hair standing up in all directions. I don't remember last time I brushed it. But what's the point? I'm not allowed to see anyone, anyway. I'll rot in here before they let me see Jude, so I don't see any reason to be concerned about what I look like.

_But it matters to the others._

_They'll think you're crazy. They'll think you escaped from the psych ward._

Maybe that's where I should be, where I'm not a danger to anyone.

I look down at the bandages around my wrists, hiding the wounds that almost bled me to death.

_Maybe you should be in the morgue. It would be better for everyone. Stef and Lena could adopt Jude; he'd get over it, all you ever did was ruin everything for him, anyway. If they did end up missing you, they could always get a dog or something. Dr Ashford would be able to go home to her whining kids instead of having to deal with your episodes, you never know, it might even save her marriage. People would be better off without you._

No.

Jude needs me. I can't leave him.

"Callie."

I snap my head around. Dr Ashford is back, this time with a couple of men with stethoscopes. One of them is carrying a syringe. My eyes widen in alarm.

"Do you need something to help you calm down?" She asks, gesturing to one of the men.

I back up, not stopping until my back hits the wall. I won't let them do this to me again. I won't let them control me with that mind-fucking medication.

I shake my head, raising my hands in defeat. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

The three adults look at me sceptically before glancing at each other. I hold my breath, praying that they'll walk out the room without sedating me.

Dr Ashford nods, and the two men leave the room. My tense body relaxes, never having been more thankful to see people walk away from me.

She turns to me and walks over to the bed, pulling back the covers. "I think you should go to sleep now, Callie. It's been a long day."

I comply, not bothering to mention that I'd missed dinner, but after this visit from the doctor, my apatite has subsided anyway.

I wrap my arms around my torso, something I used to always do whenever I needed a hug and Jude was sleeping, and fold myself into the hard mattress. I try my hardest to stifle a wince as I shuffle the wrong way on my cracked ribs, but apparently I wasn't quiet enough.

I see Dr Ashford's face contort into a look of concern and almost sadness. "I'll get you something for the pain," she says, before leaving the room.

What she doesn't know is that the real pain isn't in my ribs, it's in my soul. And I'm pretty sure there aren't any pills to fix that.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter you'll get to see a little bit about how Stef and Lena feel about the whole ordeal, and I'm really excited for you guys to read it. _

_Anyway, thank you SO MUCH for the response to chapter one. I was not expecting so many people to follow/favourite and review in such a short space of time. It means a lot to me. _

_Again, I'd love if you reviewed to let me know what you think of the story so far, and also to leave any suggestions as to what you want to see in upcoming chapters. _

_-K. xox_


	3. Chapter 3

It's a little past 9pm when the phone rings, shaking me out of my trance. I'd been trying to send out emails to all the guests Lena and I had invited to our wedding to tell them we were postponing the day for a while until Callie is better, but my thoughts had strayed far from the wedding and had succumbed to Callie.

Over the past few days, I've been desperately searching the internet, reading countless blogs and information sites to get at least a little insight to how Callie is feeling. Every time I look at Jude, at his angst filled expression and shrinking posture, my heart breaks in half not only for the pain he carries, but the pain his sister does, too.

I hate this; I hate that she has had to endure so much constant pain throughout her sixteen years, and I hate that now, when we thought she had finally let us in, she had been holding back secrets so terrifying that led her to want to take her own life.

A nauseous sensation gurgles in my stomach as I recall that night, only a little over a week ago.

I knew Callie had been lying when she had brushed us off after we lost the trial, but I just figured she needed some space. I could see her pasted smile faltering and her beautiful brown eyes well into an ocean of defeat and sadness, yet I didn't go after her when she locked herself in her bedroom. Callie and I are alike; we can be incredibly strong, but sometimes, when we break, we just need to let it all out. And that's what Callie was doing, although now I know it was in a completely different way than I could ever have expected.

"We should go check on her," Lena had said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. Lena had been wonderful throughout the whole ordeal, and sometimes made sense of Callie's emotions better than I could. If only I had listened to her then. Maybe I could have stopped it from happening, maybe I could have saved my daughter who was hurting in far more ways than we would ever know.

"I think we should let her have her space, Love. She probably doesn't have much to say just now, and you know how she gets when people try to comfort her."

Lena had nodded reluctantly. I could see the worry lines crease the beautiful woman's forehead, and couldn't help but drop my strong front.

"It's going to be okay, Lena. We'll get her through this. It'll take a hell of a lot of work, but we made a promise, not only to those kids, but to ourselves that we were never going to let anything happen to them ever again. We have to give her space though, I couldn't bear it if she tried to shut us out." I pulled Lena in close, kissing her forehead softly, holding her while her body shook with anguish and fear of how losing this trial was going to affect Callie.

"Okay, I agree. But if she doesn't come down by dinner, we're going up. I'm sure we can tempt her with some ravioli," Lena replied, smiling tearfully, before going back to the kitchen to work on dinner while I continued with the paperwork I'd been working on.

If only I'd listened to Lena. I should have never insisted she needed space, I _knew_ how Callie was and I knew she didn't handle situations like this well.

By seven o'clock, Callie still hadn't come downstairs, even after Lena's call and Jude's tentative knock on her bedroom door. I looked towards Lena, a hint of worry seeping through her composed demeanour. Callie _never_ ignored Jude, and that's how I knew that she had to be taking this harder than we thought.

I made my way upstairs, calling Callie's name softly as I opened the bedroom door, only to find it vacant. Confusion and dread filled my bones. She wouldn't have run away, would she? Surely not, Callie would barely let Jude out of her sight on a good day, never mind leave him without saying a word.

I glanced around the room, my police force instincts setting in as I pealed my eyes open and searched for anything instantly out of the ordinary; but I found nothing – all of Mariana's and Callie's possessions lay scattered around just as in any other teenager's room.

I pulled open the drawer of the dresser at the far side of the room where Callie kept her clothes, closing my eyes cautiously in fear of what I might discover. But thankfully, everything was in its place; her few items of clothing still lined the base of the drawers neatly.

I stepped out of the girl's room and sighed, a new worry burning its way into my busy mind. But relief coursed through my veins as I saw the thin strip of yellow light peeking out from under the bathroom door. Callie was in there. She hadn't run away, she was just using the bathroom. I almost scoffed at myself over how protective I'd gotten over Callie, but frowned upon myself for always thinking the worst of her. She wasn't her file, and Callie had proven that to Lena and I profoundly ever since she'd been here.

I walked over to the bathroom door, fully expecting to be told to go away. I wouldn't blame her; I knew she hated being checked up on. _'I'm not some little kid' _I imagined her saying as she pushed me out the door, and god do I wish that's how the situation had unfolded.

"Callie," I called quietly, knocking the door.

As I'd expected, I got no reply. "Callie, sweets, its dinnertime. Are you feeling like coming downstairs, or do you want me to bring a plate up to your room?"

I waited for a moment when I thought I heard a shuffle. I wanted her to come on her own accord, the last thing I needed was for it to seem like I was pushing her.

But the seconds ticked by, all too slowly for my liking, and I eventually tried the door. I didn't want to invade her privacy, but apprehension overpowered my desire to be on Callie's good side.

It was locked, and I cursed myself. Something wasn't right, I knew it. But nothing could have prepared me, not even the accumulation of frightening and disturbing sites I'd witnessed serving for the San Diego Police, for what I was about to witness.

"Callie!" I called, louder now. If she hadn't heard me before, she certainly would this time. "Callie, come on, open up!"

Still, the response I received was nothing but the stare of the hard, oak door as I cursed myself for ever assembling a lock on that damn door. "Callie!" I yelled once before I made my decision. Lena would freak when she found out I broke her door, but something told me ensuring Callie's safety would be a sufficient cause for forgiveness. "Callie, honey, I'm going to kick down this door. If you can hear me, go to the back of the room, okay?"

This time, I didn't wait for a reply.

I'd forced open many doors in my lifetime before, but never had my rush of adrenaline been so immense to allow me to break the hinges on my first kick.

My veins coursed with epinephrine as I looked around the room, my eyes flicking past the mundane sanitary wear so quickly that I almost didn't see it.

The blood was everywhere. The red liquid pooled on the white tiles of the bathroom floor, streaming through each of the joints like a river running away from its source.

My eyes followed the blood trail, passing a discarded razor blade, before finally stopping short on a hand so blue I hardly recognised its form. Callie's body lay crumpled on the floor, her skin pale and lifeless and her arms lay scattered around her head.

I was frozen.

"LENA!"

Tears began to sting at my eyes, tumbling down my cheeks furiously. "Lena!"

_This is all your fault_, my head screamed. _ Callie is lying here lifeless because of YOU._

My mind whirled with thoughts so overwhelming that I barely even noticed my body stumbling its way over to my broken foster-daughter, slipping on her warm blood as I went. "Callie, baby, can you hear me?" I questioned, pulling her limp body into my arms, not caring that my clothes were becoming soaked with the viscous, red liquid. I searched her body thoroughly, shocked to find her bare arms were littered with angry, red cuts – some fresh enough to have happened within the last hour. But my heart stopped when my hand ran over the deep, gaping wound circling the inside of Callie's right wrist. "Oh baby," I gasped, bringing my hands away from her thin, fragile limb, only to have more blood flow out onto the stained-red floor straight from the vein.

That alone was enough to spark the nausea, but when my eyes caught sight of Callie's blue lips, I knew I had to push my emotions and hurt for my baby girl aside. I couldn't sit and watch her die, watch her limbs starve of oxygen one by one. "LENA!" I yelled, my voice cracking as I struggled to fight back the tears. I needed her to be okay, Callie _had _to be okay.

I moved my hand to Callie's neck, pleading with all my might that I'd find a pulse. I did, but not a very strong one, and faltering at that.

"Callie, please wake up, baby. _Please_."

I struggled to lift Callie's listless body, her head lulling to the side with each shuffle I made towards a cleaner area of floor. My hands shook with fear, as I lowered them to Callie's neck. The pulse was gone.

"LENA! I need you in the bathroom, NOW!" My voice was louder than the last time, desperate, and it did the trick – I heard the shuffle of Lena's slippers on the staircase before she reached the door of the bathroom.

"Hey, what is it?" She asked, peering around the door, before her state of calm contorted into one of horror. Her face fell as she took in the scene and her eyes widened with shock. "Oh my god."

"Lena, she isn't breathing. I need you to call an ambulance. I'm going to start chest compressions."

The stability of my voice surprised me, as did my actions. I guess the cop in me really did shine through when rational Stef was no longer present, because at that moment, my mothering instincts had been pushed aside. This was about saving Callie, I wasn't about to let my emotions impact the short time we had left to save her.

"Lena!" I yelled, when she still hadn't moved an inch. "Go. Now!"

I hadn't had to carry out CPR in a long time, and with my frazzled mind rushing with terrifying thoughts, I knew that I'd be bound to miss a few steps. But I wasn't about to let that stop me, even as the crunching of a rib sliced through my frantic cries for my baby girl to wake up.

It was no use, she was losing too much blood from the open wounds on her wrists. "Come on, Callie. You can get through this. Get through this for me, baby girl. Get through this for Jude."

Thirty seconds past, and I brought my fingers to Callie's nose as I covered her mouth with my own, giving her two rescue breaths. I felt her chest inflate with air, but my hope dwindled as it quickly deflated. _She's dying. She's really dying._

My body shook with devastation that I was powerless to saving the beautiful young girl who lay before me. Her pulse was almost non-existent, but I knew I had to keep trying. Callie was a fighter; she would live through this.

"The ambulance is on its way. I told Brandon to take the kids outside to the garden and play swing ball for a little while," I heard Lena say, her voice shaky from the flood of tears which spilled over her usually glowing cheeks. "How…how is she?"

"It's not good Lena. The chest compressions just aren't working, I don't know, maybe I'm doing something wrong. It had been a few years; I knew I should have retaken my first-aid course…" My voice was frantic. I was losing control.

Lena's face crumpled as she stood frozen by the entryway to the bathroom. She hated blood, so much that it made her faint once when Jesus had spilt his head open. "What can I do?" She asked hurriedly, seeming to momentarily overcome her fear as she stepped through the threshold.

"I need you to get a towel and press down hard on that wound, do you hear me? I'm not giving up on her, Lena."

For the next five minutes, Lena and I cradled our sixteen year old foster daughter, who was just as much a part of our family as Brandon or the twins. Tears streamed down our flushed, haggard faces as we held not only Callie, but each other, too.

I imagined what we'd say to Jude. How on earth could we tell that little boy that his sister – his protector – had died in a pool of her own blood? How could we ever face the fact that she did this to _herself_?

Miraculously, as if to prove my pessimistic thoughts wrong, the silence in the room was broken.

I wasn't sure if I had imagined it at first, but as I heard another gaping breath, the pain in my heart was immediately alleviated.

Her chest rose softly as she took in air, and just in time, too. "Lena," I choked, shaking my wife from her tears. "Lena, she's breathing."

Tears of happiness rolled down my face as I heard the sirens blare through the quiet neighbourhood.

It was going to be okay. Callie was alive, at least for now.

As the EMT's busted into the room, Lena all but had to pull me away from Callie to let the paramedics do their job.

Blood rushed to my head as I watched them run their hands over her body. I could hear them yelling to each other to bring substances I'd never heard of out of a green aid kit.

"Stef," Lena called softly, twisting her hand into mine. "Stef we have to let them do their job, now."

But I couldn't look away, even as the man brought his hand up high and stabbed a syringe into Callie's bare chest. I refused to ever take my eyes off her again. If I hadn't in the first place, Callie wouldn't be lying blue on the floor fighting for her life.

* * *

The sound of the answerphone reels me out of the painstaking memory. It had been happening a lot, recently – drifting off into such deep thought that I completely removed myself from my present surroundings.

"_Hi there, this is Dr Ashford from Haven Falls treatment centre. I'm sorry to inconvenience you at this late hour, but if you could call me back urgently on this number, it would be much appreciated. Thank you."_

The woman's voice doesn't sound familiar, but that's because we didn't get to meet any of the staff when they took Callie away to Haven Falls. My mind fills with possibilities of why this woman could be calling, and the use of the word _urgent_ makes my palms clam up in panic.

I untangle my legs from the sofa and walk over to the desk in the dining room where the phone sits on its cradle. Replaying the message, I call for Lena to come downstairs from where she's settling Jude in bed.

"What's wrong?" She says as she enters the room, sensing my uneasy tone.

"Listen." I hit the play button again, and Dr Ashford's voice echoes in the quiet room. She sounds calm. Almost too calm, like she's withholding something from us.

"Call her back," Lena demands. "Now."

I make no hesitation dialling the number, the beep of each press of the keypad rippling through my body as anxiety sets in.

As the dial tone sounds, I put the phone on speaker and gesture for Lena to close over the door so we can have some privacy.

Finally, someone picks up. "Hello," we both say, Lena almost whispering as she clutches my hand for dear life.

"_Hi there, Stef Foster and Lena Adams, yes?"_

"That's right, yes," Lena answers, her voice wavering slightly. I can tell we're both thinking the same thing: _something's happened to Callie._ "Is everything okay?"

"_This is Dr Ashford, I'm glad you were able to return my call so soon." _ The woman's voice sounds flat and emotionless, as if she has been forced to take phone calls like this _too_ many times.

"Is everything okay with Callie?" I burst out, fearful that we will have to endure another horrifying ordeal.

The doctor pauses, as if she's thinking of the best way to phrase her next statement. _"I had a talk with Callie earlier. I, and the rest of the staff here at Haven Falls were growing increasing concerned with Callie's little progress since she was admitted. She hadn't spoken up at any of her group or individual sessions until today."_

I make eye contact with Lena and sigh. We'd worked so hard to get Callie to open up to us, to trust us, and it appears all that effort has been scrapped. This place is supposed to make her better, not take her back to being that beat up girl from juvie who had built walls around her heart. My heart sunk, wondering if we'd really made the right decision agreeing that Callie be taken to this place.

"What happened today?" Lena asks, soothingly rubbing circles over my hand with her thumb.

"_Today Callie found out about visiting day which takes place every Friday."_

Lena's eyes light up, hopeful. We'll get to see our baby – we'll get to make sure she's okay. "So we'll get to see her?" I ask, for the first time in days feeling a little bit of hope circulating my body.

"_I spoke with my colleague earlier and she expressed some concern over Callie's reaction to the visiting day, and after speaking with Callie myself, I have to agree."_

"What are you saying?" Lena asks, a crease of worry forming in her forehead as her eyebrows furrow with confusion.

We listen as Dr Ashford explains Callie's reaction to being told about her visiting privileges being postponed, and I can't help but begin to dislike this therapist. Who is she to advise us against seeing our own child? Callie is having a tough time in there, and hearing her reaction, her pleading to see Jude, it makes my heart break.

"_I really think that her emotional tie with Jude is something that will set her back. She is showing the key signs of guilt to her…um…accident. The silence, the hiding, not turning up to compulsory activities and then her sudden outburst. Seeing her brother will intensify thoughts in her mind. She feels guilty for choosing to leave him. I think seeing Jude will only cause her to try and relapse, which, in the safety of the facility, could never happen of course. But if she were to have contact with her brother, it could very seriously jeopardize your foster-daughter's mental health."_

My mouth fills with a bitter taste. Everything in me wants to protest against this Dr Ashford. There could be no better treatment for Callie than to see her brother. But even _I_ know there is an element of truth to her words. Callie has released her emotions to the world, and that would never be an easy task for her on a good day, never mind after losing a rape trial and being disregarded as a lying, needy teenager after suffering years of emotional torture. I want Callie home and under my watch as soon as possible, and I know that the best way to do it, although unfavourable, is by following Dr Ashford's advice.

Just by looking at Lena's face, I know we have the same line of thought. "Okay," we say, holding each other, both our hearts hurting knowing just how upset Jude is going to be.

"We can still come see her though, right?" I ask feebly, afraid to hear the answer.

"_Well. When I set out to inform Callie of my decision this evening, I was intent on not allowing her any visitors this week, and until I became happy with her progress. However, after the conversation I had with Callie earlier, she said something that changed my mind and made me assess her situation from a different point of view," _The therapist pauses, giving us a chance to take in her words.

"We can come?" Lena asks, not bothering to hide the hope in her voice.

"_I will allow a visit from the two of you alone, although it will be supervised and my staff will be able to truncate the meeting at any point. I think this will be good for Callie to see you, to get a grip back on reality."_

For the first time all week, a genuine smile forms on Lena's face, and I can't help but mirror it. "When should we come?"

"_Visiting hours are between one and four. But I want you to prepare yourselves. Callie might seem a little different, but she's gone through a lot of adjustments the past week, and I know it has to be taking a toll on her."_

"We'll be there," I say, not giving the woman any time to change her mind.

"_Great, I'll see you tomorrow, then." _Dr Ashford replied, her tone a little more friendly than it had been at the beginning of our phone call.

"Wait, doctor–"

I look over to Lena, puzzled as to what more she could want to say.

She takes a breath before continuing. "What did she say? Callie, I mean. To make you change your mind?"

The woman on the other end of the phone sighed, finally showcasing some of her hidden emotion. "_She said she wanted her moms."_

I watch as Lena sinks back in her seat, her heart filling with longing to wrap our foster daughter in her arms. Tears prick at my eyes, and before I know it, emotion floods out of me and I'm met with an ever stronger desire to take care of Callie – properly, this time.

"She…she said that? She's never called us that before," Lena manages, a sad smile forming on her face.

"_I'll see you two tomorrow, okay?" _

Before we can answer, the call ends, and I slide over to Lena and wrap her tight in my arms. "It's going to be okay, Love. We're going to see Callie and show her just how much we love her and need her to come home."

* * *

_Hi there. Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_In response to a reviewer who suggested flashbacks - well, I'd already written this chapter in advance and your suggestion matched almost exactly what I had written, so I hope this lives up to your expectations!_

_Next chapter is going to be major...I think you can already guess what's coming!_

_Please review, they make me smile and motivate me to continue!_

_Thanks again - K. xox_


	4. Chapter 4

The room is white and surgical, the bright yellow light stinging me eyes and causing my head to throb. Immediately it reminds me of one time when I was eight. I was in the doctor's office alone, waiting to get a tetanus shot after a dog bit me on the leg. The foster mom said that she'd have to send me and Jude away because she couldn't risk the ASPCA coming to euthanize her dog. The aggressive beast meant everything to her, and it wasn't hard for my young mind to understand that she didn't want us anymore, that her dog was more important to her than Jude and I. Rejection hit me like a smack in the face, but I soon forgot about her after we moved in with the next foster family. And the next. And the next.

But I remember her now, and for some reason, thinking about the haggard, grey woman gives me the chills. I wonder, if she'd known what Jude and I were going to suffer through after we got placed back into the system, whether she would have risked losing her dog to keep us; to save us.

_Probably not. Even an aggressive Rottweiler is more desirable than you._

"Are you having any visitors today, Callie?"

This is the first time the nurse has spoken to me all week and I wonder if it's a test, if maybe Dr Ashford put her and all of the attendants up to some kind of task to gauge my reactions to things. I struggle not to pull my hand away as she peels off the bandage covering my right wrist, and I watch as she flinches in fear when I bring my hand out of her grasp.

_She's afraid of you._

Despite the fact that throughout my whole life I've always tried to look tough, to be scary to try and intimidate the people who try to harm Jude and I, this is not something I wish to be here at Haven Falls.

I don't remember much of what happened the night I was taken by ambulance to the hospital, even though I had drifted in and out of consciousness. They had some kind of tube in my throat and a mask over my face, and a drip in my hand flooding in some kind of medication that made everything hazy and numb.

But I do remember the feeling of my hand always being held, sometimes a little too tight to be comfortable. I didn't care, though; knowing that someone was there was enough to keep me from falling into the drug-induced slumber which had been tickling me all night.

The next day, when they'd removed most of the tubes and needles from my body, was when the absence of that hand had made my heart sink. I'd spent the day being prodded and poked and been fired question after question that it was enough to make me self-combust. When the people I'd been longing to see all day finally turned up, their faces void of all emotion, they hadn't listened either when I tried to tell them I didn't mean it. That I didn't _want_ to die.

"You're going to go to a nice place called Haven Falls,"I remember a tight lipped doctor saying, all the while my eyes darting around crazily in search for Stef and Lena's comfortable embrace.

They hadn't come to me, though. They looked at me from across the room, clutching each other's hands in desperation or in fear; I couldn't tell.

The woman spoke again, pronouncing every syllable slowly, as if I were a grandma. "Haven Falls is a facility for young girls who are struggling with metal health issues–"

"I don't have mental health issues,"I'd interrupted, my tone harsh and unforgiving.

Her face softened. "Callie, they're going to help you get better."

"I'm fine,"I replied, closing my hands around my aching ribs. Everything hurt. I hurt _so_ badly. But I wasn't about to tell anyone that.

"Callie, you tried to kill yourself. That isn't fine, and if you think that's okay, then I think we have an even greater cause for concern."

My eyes wandered to Stef and Lena and watched as a tear trickled down Stef's cheek. I'd never seen her cry before.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself,"I whispered, shrinking down into the itchy hospital duvet.

"It's OK if you feel that way just now, Callie. Denial is the first stage to recovery, and I think Haven Falls will help you–"

"I DIDN'T TRY TO KILL MYSELF!" The power of my voice shook me and caused both Lena and Stef to jump with fright. The doctor, however, looked unfazed. She clearly wasn't getting the message.

"Callie. I think you should calm down. See this as an opportunity to find yourself, to discover who you really are."

"I'm not going. There's nothing wrong with me. I just want to go home and be with my brother," I turned my attention to my foster mothers. "Did you bring Jude with you? I need to see him, I need to make sure he's okay. He can't find out about this; he'll hate me." I began to shake with fear. I'd been so stupid last night, if Jude had found me…if he'd seen me like that, he'd think I was selfish and blame me for screwing this up for him.

"Jude's okay, Callie."Lena said, speaking for the first time. Her tone wavered with discomfort and her eyes were glossy.

"He's worried, though. We all are."Stef spoke this time, fixing her eyes on me. I couldn't look at her. I was afraid if I did, I'd break down. I couldn't risk letting anyone in just now, not when they were trying to send me to some loony bin.

"I'm fine. He doesn't need to be worried."

I didn't mean for this to happen, in fact, this was the exact opposite of what I'd intended. They weren't _supposed_ to worry about me. All I'd ever done since I'd been living with them was be a burden, and I needed that to change.

I could see them consulting with each other, the look in their eyes told me just as much. The three woman looked over my agitated body as I fiddled with a thread on the comforter, glancing at them out of the corner of my eye. Stef nodded her head at something Lena was whispering to her and I saw the doctor scribble something onto her clipboard.

It felt like forever before anyone involved me in their hushed discussion, but eventually, I saw Lena look at me, her eyes a pit of sadness.

I did that to her.

The Doctor come towards me, leaning close so I'd look her in the eye. I didn't. "Callie, your foster mothers have given us permission to take you into our care for a while. Some nice men are going to come up and escort you to a car outside, okay?"

My heart quickened with fear. I'd assumed Stef and Lena were trying to talk the doctor out of this, not _agree_ with her. My mouth hung open and my words floated in the air. I felt sick. "Is this a joke?"

The doctor looked at me incredulously. Apparently having a sense of humour made you crazy, these days. No one said anything.

"Lena_…please…" _I began to raise from my spot, ignoring the protest from my aching ribs.

"It's for the best, Callie,"The doctor said, her voice fake and superficial.

"Is that what you say to all the crazy people?" I snapped back, waiting to see her professionalism drop. It didn't happen, though. "You can't do this, I'm sixteen!"I cried, my voice becoming shaky.

"And you're still a ward of the state. Which means it is in my right to assure your safety, and right now, checking into Haven Falls is the best thing for that."

I shook my head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Surely they couldn't send me away. My eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for Lena's warmth and Stef's protection. "Please. I'm sorry I was a bad daughter, I promise, I won't do it again. I won't be bad!"

I had broken. Tears of desperation and fear filled my eyes as I begged for them to keep me. I knew it was silly, but this time, I really did care that I got to stay with them. They had helped me become a better version of myself.

"Callie, honey, you're not bad. We just think it would be good to have some time to yourself for a while. You've been through a lot lately." I wasn't stupid – I knew what Stef was saying. Usually when the foster parents didn't want us anymore, they didn't sugar-coat it as much as Stef did, they just came out with it. I knew Stef was just looking out for her family – the family I was no longer part of – but rage boiled up inside of me.

Before I could think about what I was doing, my lips began to move. "So what? I'm disposable now, am I?"

Stef's eyes widened. "No, not–"

"Save it_," _I interrupted, crossing my arms over my chest in attempt to shield myself from the pain. Even just looking at them, looking at what I could have had, was killing me inside. "If you don't want me anymore, then at least promise me that you'll make sure Jude is looked after. You have to keep him. He deserves a family like you guys more than anyone."

"Callie, that is not true! We want you, okay?Is that so hard to believe?"The shock on Stef's face was hard not to notice as I ignored her words. I couldn't look at her, I couldn't let myself be fooled into thinking they really loved me.

"Just promise me?"I whispered, defeated. I cursed myself for battling them when I probably going to be taken from them at any moment. All I really wanted was to be wrapped in a momma sandwich, but my stubbornness overruled my desire. I had to move on from them.

Stef looked like she wanted to say more, to challenge my words, but Lena put a hand on her partner's shoulder to stop her. "We promise,"Lena said, a sad smile forming on her tired face.

I glanced around the room awkwardly, looking anywhere but the two women who had opened their home and heart up to me for the past few months. Something in me was screaming to go to them, to let them love me, but I couldn't. They didn't want me anymore and had made it quite clear.

I watched as Stef's brow became more and more furrowed and Lena rung her hands in her lap, none of us saying anything, just sitting in silence because it was only a matter of time before I was taken. They probably felt obliged to be there so as to not look like crappy people, but I didn't care. So long as they were sitting in that room with me, I could hold onto a little piece of life and it gave me strength, even if I didn't admit it to them.

Before I knew what I was doing, I raised to my feet. I didn't try to stifle the wince I released as my ribs screamed for me to sit back down, just like my head was, too. '_Sit down, Callie. You don't deserve them,' _haunted the voice in my head. But I ignored it.

In an instant Stef, Lena and the doctor were at my side, worry creasing in each of their faces as I tried to catch my breath. "Callie, you should need to be careful with those ribs. Any more damage and you could have a punctured lung."

I ignored the doctor's warnings and stumbled straight into Lena's arms, for once not bothering to wipe away the tears that flooded my cheeks. "Lena, please don't make me go, _please. _ I'll do extra chores and I promise I'll be good. I want to come home with you and Stef."

It was pathetic, but I needed it. I would never be able to face Jude again without knowing I'd at least tried to stay with him, although the further I relaxed into Lena's embrace, the more I could envision myself actually enjoying her comfort.

"Oh baby girl," Lena sighed, her hand rubbing circles on my back. Soon enough I felt another body against my back, and Stef's arms wrapped around Lena and I.

"We want you Callie, but we don't have any choice. You've got to go, sweets." I let Stef's words float over my head for now. I would deal with them later, when I was alone.

All too soon, I heard a cough, and the doctor appeared once again. She looked sympathetic, but I wasn't so sure _I_ was the one she was empathising with.

Far off in the distance I heard her call my name. I heard her say that it was time to go, but I didn't listen. I buried my face deeper into Lena's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her black curls, trying to hold on for as long as possible.

But as the doctor's hand gripped my upper arm, my instincts kicked in, and she was thrown backwards onto the floor by my shove.

Lena was frozen, her hand over her gaping mouth as Stef knelt down to help the middle-aged doctor up.

"I…That was an accident," I panted, feeling everyone's eyes on me.

But of course, the doctor didn't know that. All it took was one wrong move and she'd have me written down as violent _and_ crazy. "I need some backup in here! SECURITY!" She bellowed, regaining her posture.

"I really don't think that's necessary, Doctor," Stef cut in, putting herself between me and the woman who I'd just pushed to the ground.

"Well I certainly do, physical assault of staff members is _not_ tolerable on my ward," she breathed before popping her pen and scribbling something down on the clipboard.

Before I had time to reason myself, two men dressed in black body armour entered the small room. My eyes darted around, looking for somewhere, _anywhere_, to hide as the men came towards me, cornering me in between the bed and a dresser.

"Stay away from me," I warned, masking my fear with a firm, definite tone I hadn't had to unveil since the last foster home Jude and I had been staying in. But that didn't stop them, and neither did my feeble attempt to duck around their imposing frames. A strong hand grabbed my bicep as another arm as thick as steel blocked my path, taking me by surprise and almost causing me to trip. "Let go of me!" I growled, struggling my way out of the security guy's grasp, only causing him to grip me tighter.

"Callie, you have to calm down."

I heard them, but I couldn't listen. All I could think of was how tight this man was holding me, and how it reminded me of when Liam used to do that to me, too. I couldn't calm down – I wouldn't. Not until they let me go.

"LET ME GO!"

I thrashed and struggled with all my might, screaming for anyone to grant me freedom. I couldn't see Stef and Lena anymore, and not just because of the tears that erupted from my eyes.

"Please, stay away from me!" I cried, my breaths coming in short rasps and my heart thumping wildly.

Just when I thought it was over, when I felt their grip on me loosen, I saw it – the syringe. I felt my eyes widen with fear and a scream escape my chapped lips before I felt hot pain in my arm.

Everything dulled as I fought against the sedative, colours turning dark and voices muffling in the background. I tried to speak as my knees buckled beneath me, but the words were blown away in the breeze, along with my sanity.

I haven't seen Stef and Lena since.

"I'm, um…I'm not sure," I reply, looking towards the nurse. Her face is a tell tail sign that she knows something, but just like the other attendants here, she manages to mask her thoughts quickly. I place my hand back onto the surface and allow her to continue dressing it. I stare hard at the deep wound, at the way it carves an angry curve through my purple vein, slicing it almost in half. If I'd just pressed that little bit harder, I wouldn't have to endure any of this. I wouldn't have to watch people treat me like I'm crazy.

But I didn't press harder, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm really glad that I wasn't left to die in my own blood. I'm not ready to exit this world yet.

The nurse catches me staring at the cut and her mouth twitches, as if she thinks I'm going to hunt down a scalpel from her kit bag and slice myself up again. If I weren't in such a monitored situation, I might have made a crack about keeping the blades locked up. But somehow, I don't think that will bring a smile to the woman's tight face.

As she finishes up with both my bandages, I think about Jude. For the week that I've been here, all I've wanted is to see my brother and to make sure he's okay. But now that I might get the opportunity, nerves tingle in my stomach. It's the first _real_ feeling I've had in a while.

What will he think of me? Will he blame me for screwing up again? Will he be scared of me? He has to know I would never hurt him, god, I've spent my life protecting him, shielding him from belts, fists and fire pokers. I could never hurt Jude physically, but knowing that there is a possibility that he thinks I tried to leave him makes me feel sick to my stomach with guilt. I don't want things to be different between us. I'm glad he has the Fosters, but I'm his real family. I'm the only one who really _knows _Jude.

"All right, I think we're ready to go."

The nurse's voice startles me, and I wonder if she's judging my subconscious reactions, too. Knowing this place, they'd have my brain wired up to machines just to get an insight to my crazy mind in a heartbeat if it were still legal. I'd be a great research case: "_the foster kid who finally breaks down after eight years of abuse and neglect when placed in first idealistic home"_ I'm sure they'd love to get their hands on me; at least my presence would benefit someone, maybe even help them get their degree in psychology.

I stand from the plastic coated seat with less difficulty than I had on previous days, and can't help but think of it as a sign. Maybe my ribs healing mean that _I'm_ healing, too. Maybe they'll finally realise that this was all a huge misunderstanding; that I didn't try to kill myself.

I dismiss the pessimistic thoughts that whisper what I know deep down is the truth, and hold my head high for the first time as I walk out of the nurse's office and down the hallway. If I'm going to see Jude today then I need to keep my mind vacant of all negativity. I need to make a good impression.

* * *

_Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're enjoyed it. This chapter ended up too long, so I decided to split it in half, which is why Stef and Lena haven't made an 'official' appearance yet, but next chapter, I promise. _

_I'm super happy to receive all your reviews and suggestions, so please keep them coming - they make me smile and give me reassurance that people actually like what I'm writing! _

_I'll try to update over the weekend...if schoolwork decides to give me a break!_

_xoxo - K. _


	5. Chapter 5

The drive to Haven Falls took longer than I'd anticipated. We'd been late leaving the house in the first place after Mariana insisting that Lena and I give her a ride to the mall on our way out of town. Of course, being Mariana, 'two minutes' in the bathroom was never as it was portrayed to be, and it was another half hour until us girls had buckled into the car, leaving Brandon, Jesus and Jude playing video games in the den.

Jude had been even more low this morning after Lena told him she and I were going to see Callie today, and I couldn't bear to watch his face crumple as she told him he couldn't come. Like the boy Callie had raised him to be, he nodded his head affirmatively, but I could see the sadness in his brown eyes.

I focus my mind back to the present, glancing at the digital clock in the car's display. 2:30.

"Oh come _on_!" Lena yells, raising her hands in irritation as a blue van cuts in front of us at the intersection.

"Babe, calm down," I say, stifling a chuckle at her outburst. Lena's capability to hold anger is almost non-existent, and it makes me smile at her frustration.

"We're already running late, Stef. We can't afford to be overtaken by anymore douchebag male drivers."

"Oooh, I like it when you dominate the road," I tease, leaning over the centre console to kiss her caramel coloured cheek. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I can tell how anxious she is about this visit to see Callie, especially after the way we left her at the hospital. Arriving without Jude will only make things even more strained.

"Love," I say, releasing her hand as she returns her own to the steering wheel and steps on the accelerator. "It'll be okay."

Lena's brow furrows as she sighs. "But what if she doesn't _want _to see us, Stef? What if she shuts us out?"

"She asked for us, remember? She called us her moms." As I speak, I realise that my attempt to console Lena is more of a method to reassure myself. After all, I'm still uncertain letting these strangers take away our daughter was the right thing to do in the first place.

The remainder of the drive is spent in silence, the two of us harbouring our emotions in attempt to reassure the other that everything would be okay. I knew that wasn't true though, we both did. Neither of us know what we're walking into today going to see Callie, but all we can do is hope that she won't freeze us out again, and choose to accept that she had a family who care about her very much.

Eventually, we come across the sign telling us Haven Falls is the next turn on the right, and soon the black tarmac interstate gives way to a vast, flat modern building. I ring my hands in my lap, my nerves and anticipation squabbling in my stomach creating a slight nauseous sensation. I ignore the discomfort, though, as Lena pulls into a spot and cuts the engine.

"You ready?" She asks, looking towards me cautiously.

I nod, and push open the car door before glancing at my watch. It's nearly three, leaving us only an hour to be with Callie. I feel awful, chucking that poor, obviously unstable girl in some 'treatment centre' only to be late for her visiting session.

"Better late than never," Lena adds, as if she read my mind, before entwining her hand in mine.

"You're right." I take a deep breath, and I'm reminded of the love and admiration I have for Lena. As each night we spend without Callie in our care goes by, the nightmares of finding her lying in a pool of blood increase, along with my guilt. I don't think Lena quite understands how I feel, yet, but she knows something's going on. I can tell by the tight, comforting grip she has of my hand.

We walk that way up the steps of the glass fronted building, and Lena presses a buzzer on the door, releasing a grainy static. "We're here to see Callie Jacob," she calls, standing on her tiptoes to reach the microphone.

The door releases and I push it open with my free hand. Before we even enter the building fully, the smell hits me, burning my nostrils as I breathe. _Cleaning fluid?_ I think, raising my eyebrows and glancing towards Lena.

"I guess they're big on cleanliness here." She shrugs, and then pulls me into the building with her.

We are met by a short, smartly dressed woman, her brown hair pulled up into a tight knot above her head. Her name badge reads _Dr Ashford_. My eyes widen in recognition, and I feel Lena's hand tighten in mine. She is the woman who called us last night.

"Hello, Stef and Lena, I presume?"

"Yes, that's us," I say, offering the doctor my hand to shake.

"I'm sorry we're so late; the traffic was a nightmare!" Lena chimes, her nervous laugh just enough to keep me from peering over Dr Ashford's shoulder. I don't know what I'm looking for, but my eyes widen as I catch sight of a tiny, skeletal girl walking down the hall. _This place really _is_ for the worst,_ I think to myself, and I can't help but wonder if that little girl will ever make it out of here. I silently plead that being in here – surrounded by so many girls with fully established mental illnesses – Callie won't be dragged down with them.

I look back up to see Lena nodding her head as she listens to Dr Ashford. She's saying something about how they've been keeping a close eye on Callie, and how she's responded to her meds. I flinch, hating the fact that they're drugging her up in here. No wonder she hasn't been acting like herself.

"So, I'll show you to the hall where most of the girls are with their families just now," the doctor says, proceeding to walk down the hallway. Lena and I follow behind obediently and I feel like an anxious teenager enrolling in a new school, following the Principle into a situation that's either going to change things for the better or the worse.

We pass through the hall of people and I clench Lena's hand tighter, the sight of too skinny girls and fidgeting addicts making my heart swell in anguish. I see their families, that distant look in their eyes that only comes from extreme worry and genuine fear. Fear that their children could be taken from them at any moment by the darkness in their mind.

"You okay, babe?"

I close my eyes, taking a breath to detox. I have to be okay for Callie; we don't need her to be worrying about us. "Mmhm," I hum, before bringing Lena's caramel coloured hand up to my mouth and placing a soft, lingering kiss on it. "I'm great."

Lena smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. None of us have been able to push aside our worry and concern for Callie, even though we technically know she's safe in here. We won't be content until she's back home with us, giggling with Mariana about who knows what and watching over her little brother like a proud mother as he gets an A on his math assignment.

"If you two are happy enough to wait here, I'll send someone to get Callie. When you're done, have someone come find me. I'd like to talk to you before you leave." Dr Ashford gives a curt smile, heading off to the opposite side of the hall to talk to another woman, who I assume is a nurse.

"Do you think she'll be mad that we didn't bring Jude?" Lena asks, picking at her painted nails, a nervous habit she's had for all the years I've known her.

"Yes." It comes out before I can stop myself, and I know it's the truth. There's no use in trying to deny it, and I can tell by Lena's expression that she agrees. "And I sure as hell hope that we made the right decision to come here today without him."

Lena stops, looking up into my eyes fearfully. "What if she pushes us away?"

I feel my eyes sting and my nose twitch. At this point, I'm done trying to be strong for Lena. I can't even be strong for myself anymore. "That's what I'm afraid of."

I feel Lena's back straighten beside me and immediately look up. The nurse Dr Ashford had spoken to was back, and following behind her is just a whisper of the girl who had begun to open up to us; the girl who I thought of as a daughter.

I watch as Callie enters the room, wrapping her hands around her torso protectively as she walks slowly and unsurely behind the nurse. From behind her dishevelled hair I see her eyes dart around the room nervously, a hard grimace dominating her face every step she shuffles closer.

She looks like a different person – dressed in those light blue scrubs, her bandaged arms on show to the world and her hair falling carelessly around her face. She looks weak and powerless, nothing like the tough and put together Callie who came to us from Juvie two months ago.

Finally, Callie catches my stare, and her eyes seem to light up in recognition for a moment. I stand from the plastic chair, pulling Lena up with me. My heart beats with sudden excitement and relief that Callie shows genuine interest that we're here, and I can't help the smile that graces my face. Just to see her alive – no matter how broken she is – is the biggest reward I could ever ask for at this point.

As she arrives in front of us, Callie's face seems to fall. Her eyes circulate the room, and land back on Lena and I within seconds. "Where's Jude? Did you bring Jude?"

Her voice is scratchy, as if she's spent her nights crying and screaming like Jude told us she did whenever she had nightmares, and my heart breaks knowing that I play a part in causing her distress.

"We couldn't bring him today, Callie," Lena says remorsefully, before settling back into her seat. "Why don't you sit with us?"

Callie looks devastated and makes no attempt to hide it. I feel awful, knowing that the idea of seeing her brother was probably what had gotten her through the week, but I can't dwell on it; we have to get Callie to talk to us, with or without Jude.

A look of what appears to be confusion briefly passes through Callie's hard eyes and I wonder just what's going through her mind right now, but she soon seems to shake it away and sits down on the chair opposite Lena. Neither Lena nor I even pretend to not hear Callie's gasp of pain as she sits, and the concern in our faces is mirrored by Callie's pure look of shock.

"How are you feeling, sweets?" I ask, sitting now, too, and leaning towards Callie.

I watch as her eyes dart between Lena and I for a moment, as if she is analysing our every move and intention. It pains me knowing that she is questioning our presence.

"How's Jude?" She finally asks, deflecting my question, her voice flat; emotionless. I want to curse myself for making her return to her old ways, for all I did, I may as well have offered her cement and bricks to build back up her walls again.

Lena and I look between each other and I can see the worry etched on her face. "He's good. He misses you, though, Callie."

Callie nods, biting her lip furiously.

"He, um, wanted you to know he got a B on his math test," I add, looking towards Lena for reassurance. I don't know if talking about Jude will make Callie feel better or worse. The girl sitting before me seems like a stranger in comparison to the Callie I held in my arms the morning of Liam's trial, the girl who hugged me close and told me she loved me.

When a faint smile passes Callie's lips, I tell myself that I made the right decision talking about Jude, and I can't help but smile too.

"He's getting really good at his trinomials. We've been practicing every night this week and I think he's pretty proud of himself," Lena says, slightly sugar-coating Jude's recent success, but I don't have the heart to tell her to stop. Seeing Callie smile could make me say anything in order to keep it there.

"He is?" Callie's smile grows wider and her eyes hold something that I've only ever seen in Lena when she fusses over Mariana, Jesus or Brandon – pure love and admiration that only a mother could convey. Again, I am reminded just how much Jude means to Callie, and I begin to look at their separation from a different angle. No wonder she's so desperate to see him; it's like separating a mother from her son.

"Yup. He's been looking pretty smug these past few days!" Lena says, laughing.

Goosebumps line my skin at the sound of Callie's soft giggle, her eyes lighting up as she laughs along with Lena. But soon, her eyes well up and her brow furrows as she shifts in her seat uncomfortably. Any hope that we'd managed to break through to her dwindles, and I look towards Lena nervously before taking a deep breath. We have to start somewhere, right?

"So, how are things?" I ask, unsure of any other way to phrase such a question.

Callie shrugs, her eyes fixed down on a stray thread hanging from her bandage.

"Callie, Love. You have to talk to us," I say, trying to catch her line of sight. She freezes for a moment before huffing and shuffling again in her seat.

"Okay, I guess."

It's not much of an answer, but at least it's a start. We can't make her talk, but from what her doctor has said, this is probably one of the longest bursts of interaction she's had over the past week and it makes me feel better knowing that it's with Lena and I.

Just when I think she isn't going to say any more, Callie speaks. "The food isn't very nice, and the pasta is no match for Lena's ravioli."

I feel Lena tense next to me, and I reach for her hand as I recall That Night. Lena had been making ravioli the night we'd found Callie in the bathroom, and somehow I don't think either of us will ever be able to eat it again he same way we used to.

I sense Callie's confusion, but don't bother to clarify. Instead, I smile softly, as I wrack my brain for something civil to ask her.

But again, Callie takes me by surprise. "I'm really sorry," she says, almost so quietly I have to blink twice to ensure I'm not hearing things. But the look on her face says it all. She looks broken. Completely and utterly at end with herself. But what scares me more is the undeniable look of guilt her eyes possess, and that is the last thing I want her to feel. "For…all of this," she elucidates, pushing her unkempt hair behind her earring-less ear.

"Callie–"

"You don't have to be here. I totally screwed things up, and overstepped my boundary. I'm sorry you had to get involved with all of this, and I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you," Callie interrupted, ringing her hands in her lap, beginning to get antsy. "God, I don't know what I was thinking. If…If you hadn't _found_ me then Jude would…God I'm so _stupid!"_

"Callie, baby, it's okay. You're not stupid. You're one of the strongest, smartest people I've ever encountered in my life, and having you here with us is such a pleasure. We love you, Callie, and please hear me when I say that we – this family – would do _anything _for you."

I watch as a tear rolls down Callie's left cheek and all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and never let go. Lena's hand squeezes mine, and I remember where we are. I don't know if Callie will accept our comfort, and we can't risk her rejection in front of all these people.

Callie sniffs and takes a deep breath before swatting away at the tears. "Thank you," she says, leaning towards us and placing her hand over Lena and I's joined ones, the first physical contact we've had with our daughter since she clung to us for dear life at the hospital. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

I feel my heart swell with love, grief and pain for the young girl who sits before us. I look towards Lena and see the tears rolling freely down her cheeks. And that's when I know. I know that no matter what happens, we are going to save this girl and give her all the love, care and encouragement she truly deserves.

"Oh Callie," I say, my voice cracking as I look into those aguish-filled brown eyes.

Lena brings our joint hands up to her mouth and places a long, soft kiss over Callie's knuckles. "We're here for you, baby."

"Always," I add, determined to never break that promise.

* * *

_Hello, and thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a little bit difficult for me to write as I'm trying to keep this quite realistic, and I know it isn't a very in depth look to the character's emotion, but that will come a little later - sooner for the moms and eventually for Callie. _

_I'd just like to thank you all for your reviews - knowing there are actually people who want to read this really makes my heart warm. _

_Also...how are we all feeling about the finale tomorrow?! I'm extremely anxious!_

_Anyway, next chapter is going to be drama-filled, and hopefully I'll be able to have it posted sometime during the week._

_Please review and let me know your thoughts. -K. xo_


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a warning: this chapter gets pretty rough._

* * *

I sit alone today at lunch, my mind playing back over the conversation I'd had with Stef and Lena yesterday. I remember the look in their eyes as I approached – pity is an understatement – and can't help but feel a little pleased with myself.

They still want me.

They came when I asked for them, and that is enough to show me that they care. Despite the circumstances, I feel like the meeting went well. After they'd left, I let my mind recall their words, analysing each of their sentences as if it were a textual analysis test, desperate to understand any double meanings or hidden intentions. I found none.

I smile, thinking again of Jude. Lena and Stef are good for him, they finally helped him pass math, but I can't help but feel a little bummed. I wish I could have been able to give him the help he needed to pass, not Lena. But I try to push this out my mind, into the corner where the lingering darkness hides.

One good thing to come out of yesterday was that I got to miss group. I didn't have to sit in that awkward circle and pretend to care about everyone's problems as they drabbled on about how sucky their lives are. As soon as visiting hours were over, we were ushered into the lunchroom for dinner, and the daily cycle of life at Haven Falls resumed as normal.

My mind is so preoccupied that I don't even realise the sweaty food on my plate is finished, and I'm suddenly grateful for my extensive thought process. If I keep this up, I'll be able to get through all those torturous meals without having to suffer the awful taste.

I stand up and take my tray over to the cart before glancing around the room. People are looking at me, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact I'm no longer dressed in the blue hospital scrubs. Stef and Lena had brought some of my things from home, and although I hadn't fussed about wearing the shapeless, polyester garments before, now I'm dressed in my own clothes I hate the thought of ever putting those things back on. Maybe it'll make it easier to fit in, now that I have regular clothes like everyone else. Maybe it'll make people realise that I'm not some freak show psych case.

The rest of the day is taken up by group, then study hall, where we're supposed to catch up on school assignments, or at least read to give our troubled minds some form of productivity. When I can only take so much of the unstimulating novel, my thoughts begin to wander to a place far from Haven Falls, the Fosters and my 'accident'.

I remember sitting on the kitchen worktop, chocolate covering my face and fingers and my hair dusted with flour. I remember grinning wildly at my mom when she called me a mucky pup, and her promise that I'd get to lick the bowl of cake batter after she'd put the tins in the oven to bake. She sang along to her favourite Beetles record as I sat cross legged on the floor before the oven, not once taking my eyes off of the window where I could see my cake beginning to raise. It had been fascinating to my five year old mind that so many different and unlikely things could come together to make something wonderful, and as I'd grown up in the foster system, I'd always held onto that little whisper of hope that no matter how different and outlawed Jude and I were, we'd turn out okay. As per most of my childish premonitions and dreams, nothing came of my cake metaphor except blackened sponge and another of my father's drunken squabbles. The cake was binned, and Jude and I went to our room until mom had given dad an aspirin to make him sleep.

And now, any chances of something wonderful coming from Jude and I's past have most definitely been discarded – well, for me, at least. I just hope my reckless actions haven't impacted Jude, I'd never forgive myself if I've violated his home with the Fosters.

Thinking about my mom isn't something I do often, and especially not out in the open with people around to judge the silent tears that brim over my eyes. That's why it surprises me that the thoughts this evening don't upset me – they only make me love her more. She wasn't the best mother, in fact, she was far from it, which is why I care so much for Jude. But that doesn't mean all the memories with her were bad, they just didn't always end favourably. She tried. She really did try to be a good mom, and part of me realises now that I've inherited this trait, except my attempts go further than hers ever did.

The bell rings. It's eight o'clock. We're supposed to use this time to shower or do any last minute things before lights out at 9:30. I hate this time, even though it's the only time I'm truly ever alone; with no attendants watching my every move, I could do anything I want – which is exactly the problem.

It's as if the barriers in my mind – telling me to be strong, to hold it all in and fight the desire – have crumbled. Flickering thoughts of blood, of the desire to feel the sharp pain of the blade slicing though skin again and again, the dull numbness that sets over afterwards that makes everything seem okay for an hour or so. That's what I want to feel.

I feel my body move without my brain really telling it to as I survey the room from behind my curtain of dark hair. Nobody is paying me any particular attention; they're all too busy fusing over who gets to use the shared hair dryer first. I stand up, my legs numb as they walk me over to the door out into the hall and I find myself walking towards the bathroom. I don't know what I feel – guilt, maybe? Guilt for not protecting Jude, for getting us thrown out of the Olmstead's – the only foster home we'd ever lived through without any physical abuse inflicted on us – or for ruining everything for him again. But what kills me the most is what Stef and Lena said to me yesterday.

"_We're here for you, baby."_

"_Always."_

_You don't deserve their love, not after all you've done to them,_ the voice inside my head tells me.

But I do. I do deserve their love, and I know that I need it more than anything. But there's still something in me that doesn't _want _to deserve it. I'm somehow attached to this little thread of hope that I'll be able to make it out here okay on my own. I've never had a family, and I'll never need one. I'll never be fully happy, but so long as Jude is, then I'll settle for being OK.

I find myself pacing the bathroom, my hands rubbing at my nose furiously as my mind spins with clause after clause of what everything and anything means.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and almost shy away at the image. Is it really possible that these people are right? Am I actually sick? If the girl staring back at me in the mirror is any indication, then I'd say so.

I'm unable to tear my bloodshot eyes away from the mirror. My hair is limp and messy, my lips are chapped and dark rings hang around my eyes. I look different, and for the first time, I see myself how everyone else here does – vulnerable.

* * *

I wake up to find myself curled in a ball, sitting against a door inside a toilet stall. I don't recall coming in here, but then again, I don't do much these days in a conscious state of mind.

When I peel my eyes open, I catch sight of the red marks on my arm and frown. They look like scratch marks, and could have only come from my own ragged fingernails. I sigh, feeling defeated. How am I supposed to hide these from those judgemental nurses who change my bandages every morning? How am I supposed to convince people that I'm getting better when I can't even dictate when my mind is going to switch into self-destruct mode?

_That's only a half-ass attempt. You're going to get in trouble anyway, so why not make it worth it? Do it. You know you want to. _

The voice tempts me, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm stifling a groan as I twist my body round to face the toilet paper dispenser. I examine it carefully, running my thumb over the slightly serrated edge. It's not sharp enough to draw blood on the first go, but it'll definitely break the skin with some force.

I bring my arm up fast before I can back out, replaying the voice in my head to give me strength. It's the only way to keep myself feeling something, the only way to _cope_ with being locked up in this place.

Just as I feel the teeth pulling at my skin, I hear the door to the bathroom open followed by the chattering voices of some of the other girls. My moment is ruined. I can't risk them catching me.

Slowly, I force my shaking legs to stand. I need to focus, but with the array of pills the nurses make me take every morning, my brain is fuzzy and concentrating is a challenge, especially when I'm tired.

After taking a second to verify my plan, I pull the toilet flush and unlock the cubical door. I can feel the girl's stare on my back as I walk out of the bathroom and it makes my skin prickle. They really _do_ think I'm crazy.

When I reach my room, I gather some things I'll need for a shower and wrap them in the itchy, stained towel they issued me with when I was admitted to Haven Falls. As I turn to leave the room, my eyes catches something in the bag that Stef and Lena packed for me which is lying at the foot of my bed. In it there is a small, travel sized bottle of shower gel – the kind that Lena always used (and I always stole). I hadn't ever picked up that she'd noticed I'd been using her expensive shower gel, and I would never have dared take more than the tiniest squirt on my sponge in fear I'd get in trouble. But seeing this tiny bottle that she'd obviously gone to some effort to pack was like a sign. She had known all along that I'd been using her soap, but didn't question her more frequent need to replace her supply. It was like she wanted me to use it, wanted me to have a part of her. And in a way, that's all I had really wanted, too. It didn't matter about the shower gel, what mattered was that Lena and I had an unspoken connection, and it made my heart throb just thinking about it.

I think about it for a moment before allowing my front to crumble, reaching over and pulling the tiny bottle from my bag and placing it in my bathroom pile before I exit the room and walk along the hall. If I'm lucky, those girls will be gone and I won't even have to shower; I'll be able to go straight back into that cubicle and seek my relief immediately.

But of course, as I enter the bathroom, there's no such luck. One of the girls sits on the counter, toothbrush in hand as her words come slow and jittery. The other two sit against the wall, one of them braiding a thin girl's limp hair as the three chat mindlessly about something someone's mom's boyfriend once said.

I hold my breath as I walk slowly into the room. Their conversation stops short, and I watch as each of them stare after me as I pass by and head for the showers. My hand's clam up, and I'm all of a sudden nervous and concerned about the whispers I hear from the two on the floor. I try to ignore them, reminding myself of the reward I'll get when I'm done showering and alone in the bathroom.

I plan to shower quickly, but when the muffled voices of the girls don't disappear, I will myself to stifle the urge to claw my eyes out with my fingers. My need to feel pain becomes excruciatingly strong, so much that not even the scalding hot water on my back lives up to my desires.

After what feels like half an hour, the shower cubicle is white with steam and I begin to feel lightheaded. I can't afford to pass out with the heat, I _have _to get myself into that toilet cubicle before I explode. I bring my weak hands up to the hot metal dial and shut the water off, before reaching for my towel through the haze of steam.

My hand passes over the shower curtain, but comes away without a towel in hand, and I groan, realising that it must've fallen onto the ground. I force my body down to the wet, tiled floor, but there's no sign of the towel. It's gone.

I take a deep breath, willing myself not to panic as I adjust my ears. I hear laughing, and general chatter, but one voice stands out.

"Is she still in the shower?"

"Yeah, she's been in there _forever_. Probably doing some messed up crazy shit or something."

"God, she's so freaking weird. I don't get why she's even here, like isn't she dangerous or something? Shouldn't she be in the psych ward or something?"

"Right? Like, Sandy made me go get her the other day, and I swear, the way she looked at me…I thought she was gonna, like, pounce or something. I don't know, she's _really_ weird."

"Did you see who came to visit her yesterday, though?"

"What, those dykes? Yeah, no wonder she's so fucking crazy. It's pretty messed up, if you ask me."

My breath hitches at their words. I can deal with them bashing me, but bringing Stef and Lena into it, bringing my _family_ into it, that's something I won't put up with.

"Not as messed up as she's gonna be when she finds out she doesn't have a towel, anymore."

The voice is louder now, as if the girl is standing right outside the shower cubicles. Dread boils in my stomach and my hands ball into tight fists. How on earth did I not see this coming?

"You have to come out sometime, Callie. I'm sure you won't be embarrassed or anything, I mean, living with two dykes must mean you have no secrets, right?"

"You know, I think that blonde one tried to come on to me in the hallway."

Laughter. Lots of it, and now I have a feeling it's not just the three girls who were here when I first came to shower, anymore.

"Oooh, and did you comply?" A new voice asks amongst the sniggers. I feel rage surge through my veins.

"Um, of course not. That's _gross_. It's already bad enough sharing a bathroom with her _offspring_. We don't need any more gross in this place."

"Don't talk about them like that," I hear myself saying. My voice is weak, almost sad. It angers me that I can't stand up for Stef and Lena.

"What's that you said there? We can't hear you though that shower curtain." Her teasing voice burns my ears as I hold my breath, willing for the tears to remain inside. For them to see my cry is the last thing I need.

"I said, 'Don't talk about them like that'." My voice is louder this time, stronger.

"Oh, alright then Ca_llie_," she says, dragging out the second syllable of my name. "No need to get all defensive."

The other girls giggle, and I can't help but cringe at my weak attempt to save my dignity. If I can't fight their words off, the least I can do is ignore them. I need to get out of here – I need to escape, return to my room and remain unnoticed.

"Give me my towel," I command, my voice firm and even showing no emotion, just as I'd practiced over the years.

"And where's the fun in that?" They laugh – again. The sound irritates me, almost to the point where I want to hit something. _Or someone_

"Just give me it," I sigh, feeling exasperated and faint from the hot shower. I don't have time for these teasing girls.

They obviously pick up on my weakness, and I curse myself for letting them get to me. "Awww, little Callie doesn't have her _mommies_ to come and look after her anymore. No wonder they stuck you in here, I wouldn't want you hanging around my house, either."

The words sting, mostly because throughout my whole time with the Fosters, the doubt about the authenticity of the situation has lingered in the back of my mind. I've never been certain if they actually wanted me, or if they just pitied me.

These girls don't know it, but they just found my breaking point.

I pull back the shower curtain and walk out into the bathroom, closing my mind off to the giggles and gasps of disbelief as I will my eyes to land on the prize.

"I mean, I guessed you were easy, but I didn't think you were_ that_ easy," The girl, Jenna I think her name is, says, an ugly smirk on her face. The other girls hoot with laugher at her comment as I feel their eyes roam my naked body. It's the most exposed I've ever been to anyone other than Liam. I hate the way they can see my skin, see every scar from every beating, every imperfection. But I block it all out and focus on one thing; finding the goddam towel and getting out of this bathroom.

Finally, I spot the towel laying crumpled up in corner of the room and relief floods though my veins. I lunge for the towel, ignoring the dull pain in my ribs as I bend down to quickly grab the white material. As I come back up and wrap my dripping body, I'm surprised to see nobody stopping me – just staring.

I glance around sceptically before taking my opportunity and running for the door. If I can get out of here, then I can hide in my room. They won't come for me there, not with all the attendants manning the corridors. But as I think I'm almost free, just as I place my hand on the door handle, a taller, larger girl steps in my way. My eyes are met with her chest – she's at least two heads taller than me – and I sigh in defeat. "Let me past," I say, bringing my eyes up to meet her unflinching ones. Something tells me I won't be able to push past her using just words.

Before I can really question what impact it'll have, I bring my hand up to her shoulder and push hard, causing the girl to lose her balance slightly at the collision.

"Woah, take it easy!" A girl yells from behind us, but before I can turn around to see what she's talking about, I feel hot pain as my shoulder blades hit the tiled wall and my head is thrown forward with the impact. The girl's hands push into my chest, pinning me against the wall as she spits profanity after profanity at my face, willing me to challenge her more.

I know I shouldn't. I know I should take this as a warning, but I'm done being defenceless. I bring my arms up and push her off my body with all my might, but the feeble attempt knocks the wind out of me, and only angers the black girl before me more.

"Don't you touch me, girl!" She yells, pounding her fist into my stomach, sending shockwaves of pain through my body. Despite her warning, I try to fight back. I try to dodge the fists she sends flying towards my face, I try to struggle as she holds me up against the wall by my hair, tearing it from my scalp as her hits shake me to the core.

I can hear the other girls, cheering at first, but by the time I taste metal in my mouth, their cheers turn into screams of desperation and fear. _"Daphne, stop! You're gonna kill her!"_

She brings her knee up into my stomach and I can hear its contents jiggling around, almost like I'm on an upside down rollercoaster. Although I wouldn't know, because I've never been on one before, and at this rate, I don't think I'll ever see that day.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to die. I've taken beatings before, but none of them have been this relentless, and in all of them I've had something to fight for. Here, I allow myself to be defeated. Jude has Stef and Lena, now. He'll be okay. I don't have to protect him, anymore.

Another fist hits my jaw, the crunching sound makes my knees quiver.

It angers me slightly that this girl is having an easier time killing me than I did myself. When I imagined dying, it was supposed to be peaceful and painless, just like how my death would have been if Stef hadn't found me that night. This death, here in a bathroom full of screwed up girls, is not the way I wanted to die. The pain is poignant, so much that I think about how nice it would be to close my eyes.

Each kick to my stomach becomes a playful tickle from Stef as she teases me about a boy I like. Each clump of hair pulled from my scalp becomes Lena running her hands smoothly through my locks, braiding them into a pretty plait, just like a real mom would. Each blow to my face becomes a soothing kiss from Jude, my baby brother, as he tucks me into bed after a slap across the face from one of our drunken foster fathers.

The rushing sound in my ears becomes quiet, and I welcome the darkness that takes over as my head hits the ground. I watch as the feet run past my face, each of the girls rushing out of the bathroom and leaving me lying on the wet, tiled floor.

_Sleep now, Callie. You can sleep,_ _now, you little mucky pup. _My mother's voice soothes me, almost to the point where I feel her warmth surrounding me. As always, I comply, and I let my eyes flutter shut.

* * *

_Thank you for reading - and for bearing with the long wait for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. _

_This was really difficult to write, but it needed to happen. Callie is just beginning to discover herself...she just needed a little 'help' along the way. _

_Please review and let me know what you guys think, it's really encouraging to know your thoughts. _

_Next chapter, expect to see some of Jude. I can't wait for you to read it, so hopefully I'll manage to have it posted soon!_

_Thanks again - K. xox_


	7. Chapter 7

_Stef's POV_

"Jesus, put your sister down. Mariana, you best give him that controller or I won't be able to hold him responsible for your actions; that's just plain cruelty!"

"Oh come _on_, it's not as if he's gonna lose! I may as well try to regain my dignity while I can," Mariana protests, squirming out of her twin brother's playful hold, dodging his attempts to confiscate the game controller from her hands.

Jude claps excitedly. "Hey, look! Mariana, you're actually making him win!"

I smile, watching over my family as we sit in the den. I can't help but feel my heart swell as Jude joins in with the family torment against Jesus - it feels good to finally know that he feels comfortable here with us.

Mariana turns around, pulling her face into a pout and loosening her grip on the remote. "What?! Aww, no fair!"

I hear Brandon laughing from the kitchen where he and Lena are making snacks, the salty aroma of popcorn fills the house and brings out a sense of nostalgia in me. It's been too long since our last family fun night, and now that we're all gathered in the living room, it finally hits me how much I've missed it.

When the kids were little, we used to make a constant effort to come together every week, whether it be for a movie, some board games or a trip to the local bowling alley, it was great to be involved in our kid's lives. But of course, when said kids blossomed into hormonal teenagers, parties and sleepovers began to overcome their desire to hang out with their old moms on a Saturday night, and who could blame them, really?

We'd had a games night not long after Callie and Jude came to us, and I remember that was the first night I'd ever _really_ seen Callie smile; the first time I'd ever completely seen the girl at ease, like she'd let all her burdens slip off her shoulders for the evening. It had been a great night, but hadn't been complete without Brandon there.

Just like this night wouldn't be complete without Callie.

Finally, Lena comes through bearing a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and a package of candy in the other. "Hey, Jesus, time to switch that off," She says, placing the bowl down on the coffee table before coming to squeeze the teen's shoulder. Jesus groans in protest, but presses the off switch anyway, causing Lena to sigh in content. She hates when the kids spend too much time playing video games; it's like the teacher in her just can't stand the idea of the bright graphics and arcade sound effects polluting their brains one at a time. "Okay, good. Jude, did you pick out the movie yet?"

"Yup. I know it's kinda babyish, but I've never seen it before and when I saw you had it..." Jude trails off awkwardly, before making himself busy down by the DVD player.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain. Now come on up here and sit by me and the popcorn, snuggle bug." I open my arms and shuffle along the sofa, making room for Jude.

"Oh, and what makes you think that _you're_ getting ownership of the popcorn?" Jesus questions, raising his eyebrow as he leans over and takes a handful of the popcorn from the bowl currently residing in my lap.

"_Yeah_?" Mariana agrees, coming over to the couch to try and pry the bowl from my hold, a devilish grin on her face.

"Oh well, I guess we're all going to be in _very_ close proximity tonight, then," Lena laughs, curling her legs up onto the couch as the twins try to squish into any free space on the three seater suite.

Just then, Brandon walks through the threshold, carrying a second bowl of popcorn. I don't miss his smug smile as he plops down on the opposite couch and begins munching on his homemade popcorn.

"Hey, how come Brandon gets a bowl all to himself?" Mariana whines, just as she settles into a spot on our packed couch.

"Because Brandon is smart," he says mockingly, popping another piece into his mouth.

Mariana sticks her tongue out, playing along with her brother's coy mood, but begins to giggle soon afterwards.

"Well, I'm out of here," Jesus says, squeezing out from underneath his sister and clambering over everyone's limbs before diving onto Brandon's couch.

"You would really leave us for popcorn?" Lena says, her face pulled into mock astonishment.

"Sorry guys, as much as I love you, no popcorn is worth Mariana's elbow sticking into me all night. Plus, Brandon's is warmer."

"I see how it is," I say, feigning hurt, but soon, all of us are enveloped in laughter and light banter as the trailers pass by on the DVD.

"Hey look, it's starting!" Jude announces, excitedly, and our teasing dwindles as everyone settles down for the night. I give Jude's shoulder a squeeze as the opening credits begin, and can't help but feel my heart swell when I recognise the movie - Lilo and Stitch, a favourite of our family for as long as I can remember, mostly because each of our kids were able to relate to it in some way, and that's no exception for Jude and Callie.

As the movie goes on, I can't help but watch Jude's fascination as he engages with the picture. His sudden gasps and chuckles come easy and carefree, and for once, I feel we are getting to see more of his personality than ever before without Callie here. Of course, it's nothing Callie does that particularly causes him to hold back his charisma, but anyone can tell that when the two of them are together, there is something different about each of them. Considering how close they are, it's surprising how they act around each other; when Jude's around, Callie puts up this strong, positive front, protecting Jude in a maternal way, hiding her emotions so that he won't worry about her. The same goes for Jude - his constant need to find reassurance in Callie is almost worrying, but he's proven over the past week without her here that he can tackle the small hurdles now without her.

In all honesty, after our visit with her yesterday, my mind has been at ease, as has the kid's. They seem different today, almost relieved. After Lena and I had come home yesterday and told them a little about our visit with Callie, it had almost been a trigger switch for the kids. There was chatter at breakfast this morning, and if tonight proved anything, their regular rituals of sibling banter had returned.

I've noticed it in Lena, too. We talked to Callie and we really got through to her for the first time. She accepted our presence and accepted our love - more than anything that we could have ever expected or asked for. I think after seeing Callie, it gave both Lena and I a positive insight as to what to expect - it's going to be a long road, but the end will eventually come.

In spite of the positives of yesterday's visit, in my stomach sits a pit of dread.

I'm terrified that she is dissociating herself from people in there. I'm terrified that this medication they've got her on is playing with her mind in more ways than just making her better. I'm terrified that we'll lose our strong, stubborn, wonderful Callie, and have her replaced by a mundane, manufactured one, doped up with pills to level her emotive personality. But most of all, I'm terrified that she's going to hate us when she does finally get home for putting her through all of this.

It leads me to question: is what we are doing to Callie (placing her in this 'treatment centre') any different from the time my father locked me in a confession booth with his priest to shame me of my sinful, homosexual thoughts?

_Of course not_, Lena would say. _We are helping her get better. _

But that's what my father had thought the day he drove me to the church. He thought he was helping me get better, but all his actions did was evoke pain and uncertainty from within me, not change me into a _straight _person.

As far as the context is different, the prospect is the same. We, as parents, are practically contradicting ourselves. After raising our children to be the people they want to be, after telling them countless times "Don't change for anyone", it's almost embarrassing how I'd allowed this to slip over my head.

"Hey, babe. You okay?"

Lena's whisper startles me, and I look towards her. Mariana is curled into her lap, eyes closed, breaths coming slow, and I smile at the sight. I know Mariana hasn't been sleeping well at night this past week, and truth be told, none of us have; we've all been on edge, worrying about Callie. It's nice to see her finally at peace, comfortably napping against her Mama's chest.

"Mmhm," I reply before surveying the room. Brandon and Jesus are still engrossed in the movie, as is Jude, but I notice the youngest boy has shifted from his ridged, sitting position, his legs now curled underneath him as he leans his head on his elbow drowsily.

As I survey my family, I'm reminded how much love I have for the little things they do. Jesus's wicked sense of humour, Brandon's generosity, Mariana's cuddles, Jude's thoughtfulness and Lena's optimism.

As much as I'd love to say my experience at being told to change who I was is similar to Callie's, I can't. When I was a teenager and discriminated for my sexuality, there was no physical harm coming to me. But with Callie, the situation is different.

I may not be practicing what I preach on this occasion, but it's only because I love her, and I want to protect her, just as I would with any of my other babies.

Finally content with my state of mind, I allow myself this evening to be here, in the now. Callie is safe in Haven Falls; she can't harm herself there, and she really did appear to want to do better. I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and rest my hand on Jude's foot, squeezing it for good measure. He pries his eyes away from the TV screen and looks at me, expectantly. With nothing to say, I smile to him warmly, and the image of his returning, crinkly-eyed smile warms my heart. I love these kids, and as soon as Callie gets better, I'm going to make sure they know it officially.

By the time the movie finishes it's past nine, and I can tell Jude is fighting to keep his eyes open. Lena gently wakes a groggy Mariana up, and guides her upstairs, while Jude excuses himself to bed, too. It's unusual for a Saturday night to have half the kids in bed, but I don't complain - I could do with a little alone time with Lena.

Brandon begins to channel hop, searching for something to watch while Jesus is rummaging in the kitchen, no doubt for a snack. I swear that boy inhales more and more food as the days go by.

I lean back on the sofa, pulling my hands through my blonde waves, making a mental note to call the salon and book myself in for a trim sometime soon. Maybe when Callie gets back we can make a day of it: Lena, our daughters and I. It could be like a girl's day out, and who didn't love being pampered?

The house is quiet – Brandon seems to have given up on the TV, his eyes now firmly occupied by his phone, and Jesus seems to be eating his way through the whole loaf of bread at the kitchen island. Lena is still upstairs, and it dawns on me that perhaps she fell asleep.

Sleep. It sounds so inviting right now, and I'm beginning to feel the toll my sleepless nights is having on me. Maybe I can just curl up here, take a quick nap before Lena comes down from settling Mariana and Jude...

"Callie was really good at photography."

I sit up and face Brandon, wincing at his use of the past tense. "_Is_. Callie _is_ good at photography," I correct, fully aware that I'm being a little harsh - he couldn't understand.

But the look in Brandon's eyes counteracts my pervious judgement; the pain is so stagnant, it almost hurts to look, and I imagine it's the mirror image of my own eyes. I suddenly feel awful for assuming that Brandon was dealing with this, for believing the front he's been holding up. He, after all, was the one to provoke Callie's confession – he was the first person she had trusted with the darkest secret of her past. And now I feel awful for excluding my son in the midst of my bereavement, for knocking him off as too naive and young to understand the pain Callie's actions had inflicted on Lena and I. Of course Brandon felt it too.

"Right, yeah." He shakes his head, as if ashamed. I have the sudden urge to hold my boy, to protect him from this pain, to at least help him through it. "You know, when she comes home...when she's better, maybe we could get her a gift, like a camera, or something. We could all pitch in; that way it would be something from _all_ of us to show her how we care."

A lump forms in my throat and my voice comes out in a croak. "Yes. I think that's a great idea."

Brandon smiles sadly, before turning back to his phone. I sigh, feeling defeated. _When did our life become so complicated?_ I think to myself, but in truth, I wouldn't exchange it for the world.

The ringing of the house phone pulls me from my thoughts, and just as I'm about to heave myself up from the couch, Jesus yells through from the kitchen, his words mumbled as he speaks through his chews. "I'll get it!"

"Make sure to finish eating first!" I reply, chuckling at the fifteen year olds frivolousness. If Lena were here, she would give him a ticking off for speaking with his mouth full. She has to do it almost every day at breakfast, now the exchange seems more like a joke than a scolding.

"Moms!"

Jesus's voice is louder now and I cringe in fear he'll wake his sleeping siblings, but that doesn't settle the confusion in my stomach as I leap off the couch and bound into the kitchen.

"What is it?" I ask, taking in the boy's puzzled facial expression. I can't begin to imagine who is calling at this time of night, unless it's Lexi seeking the company of the twins, or Talya for Brandon. The way Jesus's eyebrows knit together makes me think otherwise.

"Hello?" I say, pulling the handset up to my ear as I wait an agonising few moments to hear a reply. When I hear the voice on the other end, my heartbeat speeds, almost so aggressively that I can't focus on what she's saying.

"Hey, what's all the yelling about?" Lena walks into the kitchen – she's dressed down since retreating upstairs, now clad in a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose fitting tee. Her eyes soften when she takes in the situation, and no doubt the look on my face.

As the woman on the phone continues to speak, I see Jesus mouthing something to Lena. "_Dr Ashford?_" She questions, a crease forming on her forehead.

I listen intently as the doctor drills on, clearly nervously babbling and drying to divert from the point. She mentions an incident, and it takes a moment for me to piece together what she's trying to say. "What do you mean an _'incident'_?" I speak for the first time, my voice harsh: angry.

Lena looks pained and I feel Jesus tense up beside me. It only takes a one more prolonged "umm" from the usually composed doctor to tell me what I need to know, and I feel my knees go weak beneath me. "We're coming," I say, without even checking with Dr Ashford to see if visitation is allowed. "_Now_."

I hang up the phone and immediately rush to the foot of the stairs, the last place I remember seeing my shoes. "Stef?" Lena calls, following behind me with Jesus in tow. "Stef, what's going on?"

I bend down, pulling on my chucks without bothering to tie the laces. "It's Callie," I say, after taking a few deep breaths. "Something's happened." It takes everything in me to stop the tears from falling as dread and fear dance around in my stomach.

"Did she...did she do something to herself?" Lena looks disjointed as she swallows back a sob.

I shake my head no, my hands shaking as I fumble for a jacket in the coat closet. "There was an incident with the other girls," I reply, feeling beside myself with guilt. While we'd been having fun tonight, joking, laughing and snuggling up as a family, something terrible had happened to Callie, and I can't help but think it's my fault for taking my mind off her for the evening.

Lena looks at me expectantly as I pull her coat from the cupboard, too. "That's all I know."

She nods her head dismissively, and I catch her swiping at a tear which rolls down her cheek.

I push my thoughts of guilt aside, and channel the cop in me. I need to be strong – the only thing that's important right now is getting to Callie.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and to the reviewer who requested seeing how everyone at home is coping, I hope this does your idea some justice - thanks for the suggestion, because it actually helped me develop some things in this chapter that I didn't really know where to slot in before. _

_Also, I have a quick question for you: how do you feel about Brallie? (Please let me know what you want to see - as I stated before, in this story, there is an obvious attraction between the two, but nothing romantic has come from this yet. But the door is always open...or it can stay firmly closed - up to you!)_

_Thank you endlessly for your kind reviews; they mean the world. I'm excited for this next chunk of the story, and I'm on Easter break now, so hopefully I'll manage some more frequent updates for you. _

_Anyhow, please review! - K. :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter does contain violence and some sensitive subjects in detail, so please take this into account when reading. _

* * *

"_Callie."_

_I hear her, but I choose to ignore her. I smile, my tiny six year old fingers stretching as far as possible, in desperate need to reach the glitter which sits on top of the craft cupboard. I want it to be a surprise, from me and Jude, although I'm afraid that he'll make a mess with the glitter like he did last time and Daddy will get cross. I don't like it when Daddy gets cross._

_My short arms do no good, even though I'm standing on the kitchen chair. I decide to clamber up onto the countertop, that'll make it easier. I stand on my tiptoes and finally succeed – in my hands is a packet of glitter tubes, and I feel nothing but triumph. _

_But my triumph is soon chased away by inward panic as papers begin to slip from the cupboard, a seemingly endless rainstorm of white. The noise isn't much, but of course, it was enough to concern her, even though I'd begged that she stay firmly on her position on the worn, leather sofa in the living room._

"_Callie, what's going on in there? Whatever you're doing, be careful." Her voice is calm, void of any real concern, and I know I'm safe for the moment; I'll be able to make the card without her being any the wiser. _

"_I'm OK, Mommy," I call through, pushing my overgrown bangs out of my eyes before beginning to pick up the fallen papers. But as I attempt to shuffle them into an orderly fashion, a small, wallet sized photograph falls through the pages. I pick it up with clumsy fingers, and study it intently. It's of Mommy, but she looks a lot younger, and she's wearing some kind of school-logo shirt. Her hair is long and dark, her eyes brown and full. I gasp at her beauty, and run my fingers over the creased photograph. One day, I want to be beautiful, just like my Mommy._

_"Hey, whatcha got there, my little mucky pup?" _

_I giggle at her nickname as she comes up behind me, ruffling my dark, chocolate locks. "You look pretty, Mommy," I say, looking into her eyes, comparing them to the ones she bore in the photo. They look the same, but they also look a little different, more tired and sad now. _

_"Oh, that old thing. That was taken for the yearbook at school in my junior year. Here, I'll just throw it in the trash along with all that other junk in there." She picks up the old paperwork that had fallen out the cupboard before reaching for the tiny photograph which I'm still holding. _

_"No," I say, urgently. She looks at me incredulously. "I want to keep it." _

_She shrugs her shoulders before tapping me on the nose playfully. "Alright then. Be careful up there; I'm going to get Jude ready for lunch." _

_I find my eyes scrutinising the photograph again, absorbing every detail in a fascinating manner. How could someone so beautiful turn into someone so sad, so tired and hurt? _

_With the glitter tubes tossed to the side, I climb down from the countertop and hurry through to the bedroom, the picture clasped tight in my hands. I look around the room, searching for the perfect spot to put it when I hear my mommy's voice again. _

_"Daddy will be home soon, Cal. You better get that mess cleared up; you know what he's like." _

_I wince. Even at my tender age, I understand what my mother is telling me. I don't underestimate my daddy's ability to get mad, even if I was just trying to make a Mother's Day card for the woman who had put her soul into looking after Jude and me. _

_Reluctantly, I place the picture under my pillow, figuring I'll find a more permanent place for it later. But as it turned out, the picture never strayed far from under my pillow for the next ten years._

* * *

I'm thrown into this realm of intangible thoughts, the whispers of memories from my childhood whizzing through my mind like a speed boat.

I see my mother stumble back as my father hits her hard after one of his drunken squabbles, I see him lower down onto his knees, begging that she stay with him, promising that he'll never hurt her again. I see my intoxicated father tumult our shabby grey Prius into a sleepy family's car, killing almost everyone at the scene. He broke his promise; he killed her.

I see a ten year old version of me, clutching a six year old Jude, as a man named Bill tells us we're going to live with a nice family now. Jude is confused, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown – he doesn't understand that our mom is dead. Bill tells us to gather our clothes and bags – it's time to go now. Jude lets out a sob, terrified of our uncertain future. I don't shed a tear; I'm too consumed by the guilt which weighs down my stomach like an anchor, an anchor reminding me never to forget. _I should have kissed her goodbye. _

Jude clings to me as Bill offers a soothing hand. I wrap my arms around him tight, whispering the some of the last words my mom said to me. "I'll take care of you, buddy," I hold him tighter, reciting the promise mom set me in my head. I'll fulfil it always, no matter what the consequences. I owe it to her. "I'll take care of you."

I see foster home number one, a small family of three. They clothe us, they feed us, they take us to school, but they don't sing us to sleep like our mom used to do. They don't rub Jude's back after he has one of those nightmares he hates. They don't sing along to The Beetles as they cook dinner, either. I spend every night rubbing my fingers over that tiny picture, challenging myself to remember each and every detail of my mother.

We're gone by Christmas. Maybe Jude's nightmares were too much for them to handle.

After the first foster home, I lose hope and I'm right to. Jude, of course, is forever optimistic. He doesn't see the sequence at first. He doesn't realise that screaming in the night will only get him extra chores or the occasional smack on the backside. I, however, learn to brace myself in the second foster home; I learn how the system really works.

In a way, I am thankful for foster home number two – it definitely wasn't the worst home we've been placed in, although most people would deem it unfit for purpose. It toughened me up to face the real world.

We were out by July. It had seemed like the longest summer ever, each day that passed our bones stretching our skin out farther than the day before as we survived on one meal a day, most of which I gave to Jude's growling stomach.

"Punishment," the foster father had said. "For ruining my lawn with that god dammed kiddy pool!"

Eventually, Bill came to check up on us that month and I still remember the shock in his eyes as he inspected us. I had to go to the hospital and they injected a tube into my hand attached to a big bag of fluids. Malnourishment, they said it was.

We were driven across town after that, to foster home number three. They wanted to spilt us up; there was a nice couple who could take in Jude, and they'd soon find someone just as nice for me. "No!" We'd both said, locking arms around each other in an unbreakable union. "You won't split us up!"

The third foster home was okay, in truth. It was only when the dad got sick and became bed bound that Jude and I really paid the price. The mom started drinking, to ease the sadness and worries she had for her dying husband. The first time she locked me in the cupboard under the stairs was after Jude and I had been playing in our bedroom when we were supposed to be asleep. He squealed as I tickled him, and the mom came staggering through, cursing that we better keep quiet because we'd wake Jim. She asked who'd screamed, and of course I'd taken the blame. I had made a promise to my mother to protect Jude, no matter what the costs.

The closet became a regular thing, as did the cursing, the nips, and the shoving. I fought against the punishments at first, but that only ever made the situation worse. Thankfully, Jim died, and the state revaluated the woman's mental state. She was removed from the system, and we moved on.

We were sent to a children's home, after that. No one wanted two kids in time for Christmas. It was fine there; Jude and I were safe, we were fed semi-decent food and the people were kind enough. If only I'd appreciated it more.

The fourth foster home came almost a year later - I was twelve, and Jude was eight. This was the first home where I really feared for our safety. The man was ruthless, hitting us for the slightest misplaced object or trivial comment. I'd learned the hard way not to dodge the hits, it would only make things worse. Knowing it was me instead of Jude pulled me though it; knowing I was keeping the promise to my deceased mother.

The next homes are a blur of hate, the smacks to the cheek, kicks in the stomach, lashes with the belt, burns from cigarettes, all fall into a dark period that I've always done my best to block out. The only thing that got me through it, that kept me alive, was the presence of the tiny picture of my mother that I kept under my pillow. It was a reminder of the guilt: a reminder of the promise. Redemption. It was all a redemption, pay back for the way I'd acted when I'd last seen my mother.

Foster home number seven is the home that scarred me. The Olmsted's were nice. They were a typical, fortysomething couple living in a nice house with a standard, middle class wage slip coming in. The perfect fit for two foster kids, a safe place to land for a little while. The first six months were good, great, even. They fed us our favourite meals, took us shopping to the local construction store when one of us had a school project, and even let us watch what we wanted on TV, given that we'd done all our homework on time. It was the first six months we'd had in a long time without any physical harm coming to me or Jude, and it was almost a miracle.

I tried not to get my hopes up, I really did. But when the Olmsted's brought Jude and I through to the dining room one evening, I couldn't help but relish the tingle of excitement and anticipation that they might want to adopt us; make us a real part of their family.

But the excitement dwindled to a dull realisation when they told us their nineteen year old son, Liam, was coming to live back home with them – with us. Of course they didn't want to adopt us, what was I thinking? We were just two trashy foster kids who had been dependent on random strangers our whole lives.

I had almost forgotten about the predestined return of Liam in the two weeks after Janis Olmstead had told us of his situation; I'd been too wrapped up in my own chalice of self-despair and sadness. Knowing he was a college dropout should have said everything, but that didn't keep the blush from my cheeks as he gazed at me from over the table that first night at dinner. Recalling the tingling butterflies in my stomach as he'd asked me to pass him the salt shaker almost brings bile to my throat as I think of my juvenile, childish crush.

That was only the spark of his attraction to me, though. In the three months that he'd been living with his parents, we'd grown closer than I'd ever been to any foster parent/sibling. I absorbed his shower of undivided attention like a sponge, and it only reminds me how foolish and stupid I'd been to think I actually knew things about the world at the age of fourteen. It felt so good to feel like someone appreciated me, like someone loved me back. It almost made up for the rejection I'd felt when the Olmsteads hadn't offered to adopt us.

It started with him slipping an extra cookie or two into my packed lunch each day, attached with a note sharing one of our personal jokes, just so I'd think about him when we weren't together. And it had worked; I spent the first few months of my freshman year daydreaming of Liam's sculpted body, his strong hands and his deep, husky voice.

We'd sit watching TV as a family, always glued to each other's side. Sometimes, he'd even slip his hand into mine when no one was looking, or stroke my thigh gently, sending spikes of giddy excitement up my spine. He'd let me sit in his car, humming along to the radio as he'd fix it up. We'd chat about mindless things, which back then had seemed like he had a general interest to my life. But of course, that hadn't been the case.

It was in these three months that I'd let my promise slip. My need to protect Jude had been placed on the backburner, and for the first time in years, I was falling asleep without having to caress my mother's yearbook photo. But we were safe in the Olmstead's; nothing bad had happened to us, and my mom would have wanted me to live my teenage years like a normal adolescent, right? She'd understand.

The day of my fifteenth birthday rolled around, and no one remembered, as I'd expected. Jude was away on a field trip with school to the zoo, and Janis and Bob were working late. It was just the two of us – me and Liam – alone in the house. A part of me held this premonition of hope that he'd come bounding down the stairs bearing balloons and gifts, that he'd somehow found out about my birthday. Of course, I was wrong. Instead of gifts, he trudged down the stairs bearing a tight grimace, and headed into the kitchen, no doubt looking for something to eat.

"Your mom made sandwiches," I said, coming up behind him. I remember the way his eyes popped as he caught sight of me, looking at me as if he'd just seen me for the first time. I'd put on a black dress that fell mid-thigh and cinched in at all the right places, promoting my slight figure. My shoulder length hair was pulled round to the side, and I'd coated my lips in some pink gloss I'd gotten free with a fashion magazine once. I looked different – like an adult, not some trashy foster kid – and it excited me that Liam took notice of that, too.

His smile was menacing, but I didn't notice that at the time, far too absorbed by the way his eyes never left my exposed shoulders. His stare made me shiver.

We ate our sandwiches on the couch in front of the TV: Liam had popped open his father's case of beer, and made a shushing motion as he poured a glass for me, too. I accepted, giddy at his offering, forgetting the vow I'd made to myself years ago never to touch a drop of alcohol. I'd seen what it could do to people, and I resented the stuff, but somehow I found myself desiring more and more as the evening went on.

He tickled me as we talked, telling me how pretty I looked; how I should wear my hair like this more often; how I should put more effort into shopping for outfits at the mall. I giggled, the alcohol making my head rush and my senses numb as I let it escape that it was my birthday. He pulled back, examining me for a moment, dragging his eyes across my body, before bringing his hand up to my cheek. "Happy Birthday, Callie," he said, pushing his lips over mine. His kiss was rough and tasted like beer, but it was everything I had ever wanted. It was wonderful and exciting in my eyes – not that I had anything to compare it to. He got a call on his phone, and went outside to his car to talk. I sat in the living room for a moment, stunned at the evening's events, before dragging my dazed mind upstairs to shower away my tipsy state before Jude and Liam's parents came home.

I spent the next week hyper aware of my surroundings, taking every opportunity to examine my reflection as I passed by a mirror, wanting to look my best for Liam. I fluttered around him like a little dog, my mind unable to concentrate on anything, always insisting on recalling the kiss. Jude knew something was up between Liam and I, he didn't have to say anything, and I didn't want to tell him. I knew what we were doing could jeopardize our home here with the Olmstead's, but my fascination and addiction to Liam's attention was enough to keep the guilt at bay.

A week after the kiss, he came into my room a little past midnight, pulling me from my dreams. This time, his Happy Birthday gift was undesired, and brought with it pain, fear and torture.

I didn't sleep that night, nor the rest of the weekend. I didn't leave the bedroom either, the fear of coming into contact with Liam keeping me prisoner in the tiny, dingy bedroom. I began to take notice of the things I'd skipped over before. How Janis never really showed us much love, and Bob liked to crack jokes about Jude needing to toughen up, to become a real man. I noticed the way that they didn't bother to check on me, to make sure I was okay inside my room all weekend. And that's when I realised that I'd been so desperate to call this place a home, to think the best of these people, that my brain had fabricated any of the affection they'd shown and led me to believe they loved me. Of course they didn't, and it shouldn't have taken all this time for me to notice it.

I cursed myself for becoming one of those typical teenagers, throwing myself at anyone who showed me the slightest interest. This was all on me, I'd led him on. But in my heart, I knew that what Liam had done to me was wrong. I'd told him to stop, and he didn't – he took away the only innocence I had left.

That's when I did it. I emerged from the bedroom and pushed myself into the shower, turning on the scalding water in attempt to wash Liam's touch, his mark, from my skin. I scoured and scoured until my skin was raw and sore, but the pain was a relief – an escape from the numbness that filled my veins.

I thirsted for more, for something more substantial and tangible. The shaver taunted me from inside the bathroom cabinet. Right over there was my outlet.

The first cut stung – it was sorer than I'd expected and I couldn't help the inaudible wince that escaped my lips. But the pain felt good, and before long, I hungered for more.

Gritting my teeth, I made the second cut, a long, thin line up the inside of my right arm. Beads of blood rolled down my hand, through the trellis of my fingers and onto the bathroom floor.

Tears rolled down my face, but not from the pain – I'd taken plenty of beatings before now. I placed the blade to my hip, this time, and slashed angrily. Angry from the foolishness I'd possessed to allow Liam to manipulate me, angry from the constant feeling of never being loved.

The cutting continued, a little secret, tucked away in my back pocket for when I needed it most. Even after we'd been thrown out of the Olmstead's and placed in foster home number eight, my yearn for control over my own body was sustained. This foster father was the real deal, his hits stung along with his cruel words. I'd somewhat let my guard down since living with the Olmstead's; my bruises had had a long time to heal and my judgement had relaxed.

He'd knocked me out on one occasion, and I'd been thankful for it – the beatings were a payback for my excretion of foolishness I'd had with Liam. The pain was welcomed. And once again, I was protecting Jude. I was fulfilling my promise to my mother, making up for those months where I'd been too absorbed with Liam.

I went around in a blur filled daze, not really feeling. My only ambition was to protect Jude, and it was a reward to accomplish my duty. But when the foster father began to push Jude around, I knew that my attempts were becoming weaker. It was the cutting, I resolved. The blood loss was making me weak, distracted – not on point. And if I'd learned anything over the past six years in the system, it was that you needed to be prepared.

He slapped Jude across the face one night when he'd caught him wearing nail polish. I hadn't predicted it, hadn't thought that he would do anything to Jude – all because I was several steps behind my usual one step ahead.

I knew I had to stop, or at least reel it in; I needed to regain my focus. And I did.

The constant need to be aware, to be ready to step in front of Jude – the foster father's new favourite target – made me push my self-loathing and the pain of the rape aside. I was back on point, I was protecting Jude, and I was living up to my mother's words.

I caressed the photograph every night, paying extra attention to the twinkly eyes and creamy skin. The likeness between my mother and I was becoming more and more apparent as the weeks passed; I was nearing the age she was when the photograph was taken. But I couldn't help but notice that _my_ eyes held the same sadness, the same tiredness as my mom's that day before mother's day in the kitchen when I was six. I didn't understand then how she could have once been so beautiful and full of life and later hold such evident sadness. But now, I do, and something in me questioned whether it was an inevitable fate for everyone.

When they'd sent me to juvie, I'd almost given up all hope on finding good people in this world. They'd taken me away from Jude, leaving him with the very monster that I'd built up my strength to protect him from. That month I was in there got me thinking. I would somehow get emancipated, I would get Jude out of the system – I would do anything to give us a better life.

It was as if my shot at capturing a miracle had finally come to light, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by such a warm, loving and safe family. But in my life, nothing good ever comes without a price; and now I'm paying for it.

* * *

I ache. Everywhere.

The pain is some of the worst I've ever experienced physically – usually when I'm beaten, they tend to stick to just one part of my body; it's less noticeable then. But this time, they really went all out. My eyes are heavy, and it feels as if they're glued shut. I can only begin to imagine the damage done to my face – no doubt I'll look like I've had a round of extremely bad Botox.

For a brief moment, I thought maybe I was dead. Maybe those haphazardly memories boring down on me was my unique version of my life flashing before my eyes. I didn't want to die. Never. Even that night after the rape trial, it had been an accident. I hadn't wanted to die. But no one would believe me, of course, and I don't know if they ever will.

But what scares me most is not that people question my sanity on a daily basis; what scares me is how easy it had been for me to give in to the relief that is death.

I feel almost ashamed now, that I'm obviously still living. The fact that I'd given in, the fact that I had yet again allowed someone else to control my fate, makes bile rise in my throat. After all I'd been trying to prove to myself, after every single thing I'd done my best to defy, I had thrown it all away after just a taste of death's lucidity. A small part of me challenged that larger girl on purpose, and now I know why.

I can hear voices around me now, but I don't want to wake up. Not yet. I'm enjoying this peaceful sleep, even though my body is on fire, the bed is a hundred times comfier than the one in my room. Maybe because I'm an invalid, they'll let me keep this bed. I'd like that.

"…foster mother…visit…it's after midnight…crazy if they think…Dr Ashford will let them in here…"

It's those nurses, the same ones who gossip in the halls and are the spark of all the rumours here. Their voices are muffled, as if they're speaking behind a closed door. I pry my eyes open, but there's no door; my hearing must just be messed up.

I try to fathom whether it's the bright, grainy light that hangs from the ceiling above me or if it's the fists that had a go at rearranging my face, which makes opening my eyes a painful experience. My head aches, and it almost feels like my brain is rattling in my skull. I desperately want to give in to the pressing desire to sleep, to be sucked in by the blackness' warmth, but the nurse's not so hushed gossip grips me, and I strain to hear more.

"…a lot more to assure the cop…getting all up in her face…she's not awake now, anyway, so they'll probably just be sent away…"

_Cop. _

I don't want to get my hopes up – I'm afraid if I'm wrong, I won't be able to take it. But just thinking there is even the slightest chance that Stef and Lena are here is enough to set a sense of reassurance over my aching body.

I recall the nurse's words, and I know I need to face the world.

I pull open my eyes again, forcing them to focus throughout the bass-like throbs coming from the back of my head. My vision is disjointed, cloudy almost, like someone is holding a piece of semi-opaque glass over my view field. I wince at the sharp, hot pain as I try to lift my head, but it's worth it – the nurses have been pulled from their conversation.

"Oh look, she's awake," one of them says, her voice soft. There's movement, and soon I see a red haired woman standing before me. She's saying something but the voices are like cotton wool to my ears. They look at me, one gesturing to the door before the other turns and leaves.

"My…" start, but my voice doesn't come, my throat dry and raspy.

"Shh, don't talk. It's okay, you're okay."

She doesn't understand, and panic fills my body. "…Moms…" I push out, grabbing a hold of her hand, begging her to ingest what I'm trying to say. She looks horrified and pulls her arm away fast, as if I'm carrying a contagious disease.

Just when I think that nothing is going to come of my struggling, I close my eyes, almost ready to give into defeat, but I sense a commotion at the far end of the room. I strain my ears, but with the pulsing vibrations coming from inside my head and the low volume of conversation, I can barely make out a thing.

But then, as the tears begin to trickle down my swollen cheeks, I feel it – the tender touch that I'd recognise anywhere, followed by the low hum of soothing affection.

"St-Stef?" My throat can barely summon a thin whisper, and suddenly I wonder if I've imagined the new sense of calm that fills the room. But another warm hand slipping into mine tells me otherwise, along with that creamy, velvet voice that changed my life forever.

"Right here, baby. We're right here," she says, just as I'm peeling my eyes open again. I'm met with Lena's tearful smile and almost feel like melting at her presence. I force my eyes from the caramel coloured woman, and they land on Stef whose orbs are filled love and worry.

I feel the weight lift from my shoulders, the mom's gentle touch extinguishing all my worries and problems – for now, anyway. I open my mouth, desperate to speak, to be with them, but the sob that breaks through is less than anticipated.

_You're safe now_, I hear my mother's voice say, as Stef and Lena's hands clutch mine. And in that moment, I truly know where I need to be.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! And also, can I just mention how overwhelmed I was with the amount of reviews and feedback last chapter got?! Thank you, they really mean the world to me. _

_So, this chapter was kind of a filler - not much action, but I felt it was necessary to go into detail a little about Callie's past in a way where there would be no holding back in her subconscious state, and I really enjoyed exploring Callie's bond with her mom. I know some of the events here are a little different from on the actual show, but it worked well with the way I wanted to develop Callie's thoughts. This was pretty heavy, and I promise next chapter we're going to be moving father into the story. _

_Annnd, I have definitely taken into account all your thoughts about Brallie - and I agree. When I set out writing this story, I really wanted it to be about Callie, her sporadic thoughts and her struggles, and as much as I do enjoy Brandon and Callie's relationship, in this story they will remain most definitely platonic._

_Hopefully I'll have the next chapter done within the next few days, and we're going to see Callie really, really letting the moms in this time (no playing around!) _

_Please review! - K. :)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry for the long wait...blame exams and studying! I also want to put out there that I have no extensive medical knowledge, so some of the facts in this chapter might not be completely accurate even though I tried my best to research. Anyway...enjoy...  
_

* * *

It's funny how you can think you're prepared for a situation – how you can run through the list of possible outcomes in your head over and over until they're almost ingrained like your first crush's phone number, or the date of birth of your child. I thought I'd be able to handle what we were walking into when Lena and I rushed through the doors of Haven Falls at 11:43 pm Saturday night, especially since I'd forced myself into cop mode as soon as I'd pushed down on the clutch and backed out of the driveway. But the image of Callie's battered body, much like the lifeless, bleeding one I held in my arms two weeks previous, is something that will forever plague my mind.

A few bruises, sure, maybe a busted up lip like the night Lena picked her up from juvie and introduced her to our family – it was enough to worry me, but selfishly, I _knew _Callie could handle it; I'd got the impression that she'd received far worse in her darkest days in the system. What I didn't expect was for the sixteen year old girl who'd stolen my heart to be lying in a gurney, swollen and beaten within an inch of her life.

_How could this have happened?_ When the nurses at the hospital had suggested that Callie be admitted to Haven Falls, they had assured both Lena and I that it was a safe place where no harm could come to our daughter. But Callie's purple, swollen face and the crusting of blood around her inflamed nose seem rather contrary to the nurse's reassuring words.

Her eyes shut tight as she clings to our hands, finally allowing her walls to crumble at the instance of our presence. It's so unlike Callie to welcome our affection that I almost gasp at her actions, but it hits me that here, for the first time in her life, she doesn't have anyone to put up a façade for. She doesn't need to be strong for Jude, this time she can allow herself to hurt.

I hear Lena whispering soothingly into Callie's ear, her hands caressing the teenager's softly before running a hand into her matted hair. Her face pulls into a frown, flinching slightly, as if in pain, and I want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and never let go.

I take a moment to run my eyes across Callie's body, trying to further examine her injuries. By her hunched posture, I can only imagine the damage to the girl's already soft, weak ribs, and feel nauseous just at the thought of the purple bruising to match the marks already evident around Callie's wrists and neck, as if she'd been pinned against her will. I force my eyes upwards, my hands shaking with rage and remorse. Bile rises in my throat as I take in her cracked, bloody lips and puffy eyes. There's a gaping crack in her forehead, as if her head has been smacked against a wall with enough force to knock anyone out cold.

I hate whoever did this to her.

I hate that I wasn't there to make sure she was okay.

Sure, we had visited, and she'd claimed everything was fine. But we of all people should know that Callie's version of fine is most people's version of hell.

"Oh my…" Lena gasps, and I shoot my eyes to her immediately, adrenaline pumping through my veins, ready to jump to action. Another wince escapes Callie's distended lips as she shifts uncomfortably under Lena's touch.

"What is it?" I whisper, beginning to panic as I search Lena's face. Her brown eyes fill with sadness as they roll up to meet mine before returning to look down at her hands. I follow her gaze, gasping too at the site. Clumps of Callie's blood-matted hair come away in Lena's hands as she pulls them gently through the girl's brown tresses, leaving red, sore areas of scalp exposed; the result of having the hair ripped from her head.

Callie's moans heighten as Lena continues to work out the knots and clumps of hair – each of her gasps and winces stinging me as I imagine the pain Callie endured. "Lena…" I say, when I can't take it any longer. I think I'm going to be sick. Just looking at Callie's broken body and hearing her whimpers makes my body shake to the core.

I'm eager to exit the small room and find some fresh air before I hurl up the contents of my stomach, but my escape is challenged by Callie's tightening death grip on my hands. Her eyes shoot open as I inch my body away from her, eyes filled with panic as her fingernails dig deeper into my hand.

Lena's eyes lock with mine, and I know we're thinking the same thing: we're in for a long ride. Callie is finally depending on us, trusting us more than ever before and we need to be there for her no matter what the cost. Any progress that she's made here at Haven Falls up until now is irrelevant after this incident, and she's going to need our help to get over this hurdle.

"It's okay, Callie. We're not going anywhere," I assure her, taking a breath and stifling my panic. I have to be strong for Callie.

Her eyes soften, and I can tell she's registered my words. Her body seems to relax, as if she'd been waiting all along to hear that we weren't leaving, and she begins to loosen the grip she has on my arm. "I'm sorry," she says finally, bringing her hands up to her face and ridding her eyes of any fallen tears.

If she wasn't laying on that gurney beaten to a pulp, I would have seriously considered slapping her. How could she still think that she needed to apologise for hurting? "Callie, listen. You have _nothing _to be sorry for, okay?" I reach out, pulling her hands back into mine.

She seems to shake her head and her mouth curves downwards in a grimace. "I shouldn't have shoved her."

It's so quiet, I have to blink twice to assure I heard her speak at all. If what Callie is saying is true, that she initiated the fight, then people are going to look at this a whole different way – she won't be the victim anymore, and she won't be able to catch her break.

"What was that?" Lena asks, pressing Callie for more before meeting my gaze. She looks as anxious as I feel.

"I just couldn't let her talk like that about you. I mean, I know I was rude and insulting of your…umm… relationship the day you took me in, and believe me, I would take it back a million times if I could. But when she…when she started saying things I just cracked. I just needed to get out and I guess I shoved her and I really shouldn't have because she's, like, six foot tall and then she just started hitting me and kicking me and I…" Callie's eyes close, as if recalling the event is causing her physical pain. I want her to stop; I think I know what's coming next and I don't know what I'll do with myself when I hear it.

"I began to enjoy it. I deserved it, you know? You guys…you've been so amazing to me and to Jude and I can't believe that I said that about you…that I used that word." She pulls her hands from mine and brings them up to her face, subconsciously rubbing her nose, something that I'd noticed she did whenever she felt vulnerable. "It makes me just as bad as them."

"Hey, Callie, look at me," I say, restraining myself from touching her injured face and forcing her to look at me. Reluctantly, she brings her hazy eyes to face mine, and I continue. "You are _nothing_ like those people that did this to you. I know you, and I know that you've been through a lot, but I also know that you are one of the strongest people I've ever encountered in my life." Callie shifts so she's lying on her side, taking great discomfort to face Lena and I.

"But you always say to rise above it…I…I'm so stupid." Callie's voice grows and her eyebrows furrow. I wonder what kind of debate is going on in her head right now, and desperately wish I could control it. "How can you say all these things to me when all I've ever done is disappoint you?" she croaks, her eyes locked firmly on our intertwined hands.

Grief fills my stomach. She really doesn't see it, does she? How can this girl not see what's right in front of her? I know she's sick, I know she needs help to feel safe and loved, but surely the presence of Lena and I in this room is enough to prove to her that we love her as if she were our own baby.

"Honey," Lena starts, sensing my unease. I don't trust myself to speak right now. "I'll admit, you've made some pretty bad choices in your time with us, but nothing you do could make us love you any less. You are our baby – our beautiful, amazing and talented baby – and we love you so much. So please, please let us in. Please let us love you and take care of you and cherish you."

Callie purses her lips, ready to protest, but I cut her a stern look. Her brown eyes seem to be filled with a mix of fear, longing and sadness and a thought strikes me. _She is afraid of being loved. She is so afraid to let someone love her in fear that they'll discard her and cause her to experience such immense hurt. This isn't her simply being hostile, as she wants us to think, this is a side of Callie that none of us have ever seen before – raw, genuine fear. _

But before I can say anything, before I can apologise for my loss of temper and assure her that I understand her situation, Callie shifts her eyes from mine to Lena and inhales a deep breath, taking care not to harm her aching body. "Okay," she whispers, nodding her head slightly.

Lena looks at me, mouth open wide and dumbfounded by Callie's sudden ease into the situation. I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards in a small smile and take both my girl's hands in mine, and vow never to let go.

"Excuse me, sorry."

The voice startles me, and I crane my neck to the side in attempt to find its source. By the door stands the infamous Dr Ashford, two nurses by her side. I know it isn't her fault that Callie was injured here, but I can't help but scowl at her as an outlet to my rage. She shouldn't have let this happen. I want to question Callie, to hear her side of the story. I want to make this girl pay for what she did to my daughter, and to ultimately let Dr Ashford know that incidents like this can't be tolerated in a facility like this.

"I'm going to have the nurses' check over Callie now that she's awake…and if I could have a quick word with you two outside, that would be great."

I feel Callie stiffen under my hold, and her eyes lock with mine. "Can't we stay with her?"

The doctor's face is composed as she shakes her head no. "It'll only take a moment."

I can tell from the whistle of Callie's hollow breathing that this isn't what she wants at the moment, but I know that disagreeing with the doctor will only cause an upset and bring more anxiety to her restless mind. Plus, I'm sure the conversation I want to have with Dr Ashford will be something Callie can do without hearing.

"We'll be right back, okay sweetheart?" Lena says, bending down and placing a soft kiss on Callie's bruised forehead, being mindful of her scalp as she runs her hand through the younger girl's depilating hair.

When Callie doesn't look reassured, I squeeze her hand. "The nurses are just going to check over your injuries and see if you need anything for the pain, okay?"

She nods slowly, biting her lip as if to stifle a fresh set of tears. It pains me to see her like this – dependent. In any other circumstance, I'd be jumping for joy that Callie finally feels comfortable enough to rely on Lena and I to keep her safe, but here, I almost wish she wasn't. At least then she'd be able to get through a quick physical exam without chewing her lip off in distress. "Be sure to tell them where it hurts, okay? They just want to help you. Mama and I will be right outside."

Callie's eyes close for a minute, an indication that she's heard what I said, but doesn't trust herself to speak. I want to hold her, I want to scoop her up in my arms and take her home with me, to let her avoid all the things that will cause her distress and upset. But Lena's impending stare distances from the unlawful fantasy and forces me to raise from the chair and join her by the door. "You'll be okay, sweets?" It comes out as more of a question than a reassurance, and I want to curse myself for losing me grip on being strong.

The teen manages a faint "mmm" before Dr Ashford opens the door and guides Lena and I down the hallway, allowing the two nurses to enter the room where our baby is laying battered and broken.

My eyes are closed when they come in. I know it's a long shot that they'll think I'm asleep; that they'll go away and come back another time in the distant future to examine me, but I don't have the energy to tell myself otherwise.

It's dumb really, how all of a sudden the longing to be encased in the warmth of Stef and Lena's love is so prominent. How all of a sudden me, the girl who has lived a life of pain, hurt and abuse, is so terrified of a couple of cheerful looking nurses trying to help me feel better.

The examination doesn't take too long, thankfully. Much to my dismay, they help me change into a hospital gown from my before naked state. I flush in embarrassment, hoping nobody caught sight of my body. They poke and prod and I wince and gasp as their hands press into tightened joints and massage loose limbs. I have to stifle a scream as the hands grip over my right shoulder, the pain searing through my body like an electric shock.

They pull back in shock, hands held back in protest, obviously terrified I'm going to lash out on them. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. The pain is too much, and feels oddly familiar from sometime between foster homes number four and six, when the dad had caught me stealing cough drops for Jude's sore throat from the drug store and pushed me down the stairs when we'd got home. I'd dislocated my right shoulder, and from what I'm feeling now, I can almost guarantee it's happened again.

"I think we'll need to take her to the hospital," one of the nurses whispers, pulling her friend into the corner of the room as they have a heated conference. I don't mind, really – I can live without them prodding me for a minute or two.

A few moments too soon, the nurses are back, and one of them begins patting my forehead with some kind of antiseptic lotion that stings. A lot.

I bite down hard on my lip, bursting the already swollen tissue and filling my mouth with iron tasting liquid. I try to hold down the nauseous feeling as they stitch up my head, but when they tell me to stand, the vomit comes without warning. My knees feel weak beneath me as I struggle to balance against the gurney, every bone in my body protests, begging for me to lay back down and hide under the covers until the seething ache dulls. One of the nurses panics, running around the room frantically like a fish out of water. The other rubs my back in an annoyingly soothing way as she presses the little hanging call button at the side of the makeshift hospital room.

The sickness comes again, just in time for Dr Ashford entering the room along with a tearful looking Lena and an angry Stef. Luckily, the dancing nurse brings a bucket over just in time to catch the contents of my lurching stomach.

Tears brim at my eyes, from the embarrassment of vomiting everywhere in front of all these people, from the pain it takes to stand up, and from the burning in my throat as bile threatens to rise again. "I'm sorry," I choke, limbs trembling as I try to compose myself, but I feel myself wobbling and depending more and more on the nurse to keep me balanced.

"Okay, okay. Let's get her sitting down," Dr Ashford says, seeming to bring the room of frozen, staring people to life. They begin to rush towards me, and Lena slips her arm around my waist and lowers me back down onto the gurney. I'm sitting down, hardly able to keep my head upright as the nurses rattle on about a suspected broken collar bone and cracked ribs. It feels as if my brain has turned into a slab of granite, pulling my head and body over to the right as the four woman talk in clouded whispers.

"What's wrong with her?" Lena asks, her face swimming in front of mine, eyebrows furrowed into a tight V.

I want to tell her I'm fine, to smooth out the crease in her forehead and ease her worried eyes, but I'm just so dizzy that I can barely see straight, goodness knows what would happen if I tried to form words.

They're all talking, but nothing makes sense in the pounding of my head, their voices twist together and their faces become one.

_His eyes bore into me as I stand in the defendants box, palms sweating as I feel his stare on my skin. I hear his breath falter as I begin to speak, as I recall the things he used to do to me, the things I'd kept to myself until just recently. I hear myself speak on, expose myself to these strangers who will decide the future. If only I could stop myself, tell myself that it isn't worth it – Liam will always win and I'll be left looking like a lying piece of foster trash_.

* * *

My breaths come fast and suddenly I feel as if I'm choking. The room is darker now, only a small light coming from a machine next to me – everything else is black. It's quiet, and confusion floods my mind. The bed feels unfamiliar, comfier and more permanent than the gurney in the nurse's wing at Haven Falls I was in before.

I try to sit up, careful to spare my aching ribs discomfort, but I'm surprised when I barely feel any pain at all. I shuffle up on the bed into a comfier position, welcoming the new numbness, even if it does make me feel a little like I'm floating_. At least nothing hurts,_ I think to myself, _not even my_ _shoulder that_ –

My shoulder.

I feel around my neck rapidly, terrified when my hands are met by nothing. I can't feel anything, and for a moment, I worry that someone has cut my right arm off. _How am I supposed to protect Jude now? It's hard enough taking a beating as it is, never mind with one less limb! _

The image of Stef and Lena flickers in the back of my mind for a moment, somewhat reassuring me, but it does nothing to console the fact that I appear to have lost an arm. "Where…where's my arm?" My voice is raspy and nothing more than a whisper as I continue to panic, clutching my head in despair, only to result in another ache.

A shuffling sound comes from the other end of the room, however I'm too caught up in frenzy to care. But when Stef's worried face appears in front of mine, hair dishevelled and clothes rumpled, I all but collapse into her arms. "My arm! Mom, they cut off my arm!"

I feel her stiffen, before she pulls back and holds me at an arm's length, her eyes scanning me. "Sweets, your arm is still there," she says, an amused smile twitching at her lips, before she reaches over and pulls on a lamp, illuminating the room. "See?" She brushes her hand over a sling which holds my right arm close to my chest.

"But…" I look down, and see for myself. My arm is still present, but that doesn't account for the fact that I can't feel the whole right side of my body.

"It's okay, Callie. It turns out you broke your collarbone in two places, so they had to perform surgery–"

"_Surgery?" _I interrupt Stef, horrified. I instantly bring my hands up to my chest, and feel gauze and surgical tape instead of my ivory skin.

Stef, obviously sensing my shock, pulls my hands into hers and squeezes them softly. "Yes, but it's okay. The doctors did a good job. Try not to worry about it, yes?"

I nod my head, taking her word, but still awestruck at the concept I had been operated on and seemingly brought to a _real_ hospital. I glance around the room, my eyes squinting against the light. I spot Lena, curled up in a cot at the far side of the room fast asleep and oblivious to any of my panic. She looks so peaceful, so at ease, and I wish I could fall into a sleep like that; one not plagued with nightmares and haunted by fear.

I bring my eyes back to Stef, who's looking at something on her cell phone. "How…?" I swallow, trying to get some slack in my dry throat.

"The nurses back at Haven Falls gave you a sedative," I see a flicker in her eyes as she speaks, as if she disagrees with their actions. I want to smile, pleased that someone else finally understands my distaste for the shot of lucidity, but I can hardly muster up the energy. "We brought you to the hospital and the doctors examined you. They confirmed the nurse's suspicions that you had a clavicle fracture, and that the fragments of bone were a danger to your lungs, so they took you into surgery about three hours ago."

I stare at her wide eyed. "And I was out the whole time?"

Stef nods her head, before locking her phone and placing it back in her pocket. I suddenly feel guilty. It must be some ungodly hour of the morning, and Stef and Lena are here with me, leaving all the other kids at home alone.

"You don't have to stay…you can go home to the others. It must be really late." I rest the knuckle of my thumb on my teeth, brushing my nose with my index finger, a soothing gesture I'd done all my life in attempt to comfort myself.

Stef looks hurt at my words, and lets out a deep breath. "Would you rather we weren't here?"

"No, no – I just don't want to inconvenience you."

"Callie, we care about you so much. I just want to know you're okay, I want to be here to look after you and to make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

"But the others…"

"They're fine. Brandon is more than capable of playing supervisor for the night."

I smile, imagining Brandon dishing out rules to the twins and Jude, fully taking advantage of the situation by making them wash up while he sits with his feet up watching his favourite show on TV.

"There's that smile I've been waiting for," Stef grins, bringing her hands up to cradle my face and placing a soft kiss on my forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Just as I'm about to reply, she holds her hands up in protest. "Now, don't you dare tell me you're fine, because I will _not_ accept that as a plausible answer."

I smile a little, carrying on her joke. "Actually, I was going to say 'okay', but by the sounds of things, that one's off the list for now too, right?"

She laughs a little and squeezes my hand, before her face sets into a sincere expression. "Really, though. How are you feeling? Is there any pain yet?"

I take a deep breath, buying myself a moment to register how I feel. The dizziness and numbness from before is slipping, and I begin to become more aware of the dull throbbing in the back of my head and the pain in my abdomen as I breathe, along with a whole bunch more aches and pains. "Like I was trampled over by a heard of angry rhinos," I say, attempting to laugh a little at my joke, but ultimately wincing in pain. It didn't go unnoticed by Stef, who looks almost helpless.

She stands, running her hands through her blonde hair. "Well, I better go find your doctor and let him know you're awake."

I watch after her, the woman who had saved me so many times more than she could ever know. I want to hug her, to apologise for all the trouble I've caused her and her family, but thank her at the same time. I smile a little, faintly recalling that I'd called her 'mom' in the midst of my drug infused frenzy just ten minutes ago. I feel embarrassed, having never formally called either she or Lena Mom before, and hoping that she won't remember. Knowing Stef, though, it'll never slip her mind.

"Stef," I call, just as she's leaving the room.

She turns mid stride, her mouth hanging open in anticipation. "Hmm?"

The words _I love you _hang on my lips, but I can't bring myself to say them…the haziness of the medication must be getting to me. "Thanks," I say instead, busying myself by fiddling with the IV port which snakes out my hand.

She looks at me funny, obviously sensing that I wasn't saying everything, but when I offer no more than a small smile, she continues through the door.

In my heart, I know that it wasn't really the medication that made me want to say that. It's the most honest, true thought I've ever had – I only hope that one day I'll be able to say those three words out loud.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Again, I'm really sorry about the long wait for this chapter; life got in the way. _

_Now, I do have the next chapter planned out, and it's mostly going to clear up a lot of the issues dealing with the assault on Callie, but I really, really would love to hear your suggestions for where this story should go. What do YOU want to see? Please leave a review and let me know! _

_- K. :)_


	10. Chapter 10

"The surgery went well. We've inserted a metal plate and four pins into your clavicle – or your collarbone, in more familiar terms. This should keep everything in place, although for the next six to eight weeks, you'll need to avoid any strenuous activities like sports and lifting things. You may need assistance to dress and bathe for a week or so, but we'll prescribe medication to take away the pain."

_Assistance. _ I flinch at the word, not even trying to be discrete about my discomfort. I don't know what's going to happen to me when I'm released from the hospital, but I definitely don't plan on needing anyone to help me shower. I feel Stef's eyes on me, her stare is intense, as if she's trying to pick my brain, while Lena listens to the doctor explain a treatment plan for my shoulder. I feel uncomfortable under her gaze suddenly, in fact, I feel uncomfortable just being confined to this bed in this dully lit private room and for the first time in hours, I long to just be left alone.

But of course, nothing ever lives up to my wishes.

"I'll get you booked in for some physiotherapy sessions in a few week's time so you can start regaining full use of your arm again, and then in the near future, I'll do another assessment, see how things are going and we'll determine whether a second surgery will be required to remove the pins."

"Wait, another surgery?" Lena questions, her head pulled back in surprise.

The words make me feel almost nauseous. When I'd found out I'd had the surgery, I was thankful that I'd been out cold before and during the procedure mostly because the idea of having someone cut me open and fiddle around with my body parts terrified me. I'm thankful that I was none the wiser. But now, even just the thought makes me queasy, and the thought that they might need to operate again almost sends me lurching out my seat to dry heave in the toilet.

"Sometimes, in cases like Callie's, the pins can cause irritation to the skin and the bone. Since her bones are young, I don't see any reason why they won't heal over in time, so it may be possible to remove the pins if they begin to cause her any discomfort." The doctor looks at me, finishing up his explanation before registering my paling face. "Here," he says, handing a vomit bowl to me, his forehead creasing.

Just as I begin to thank him, the saliva sweetens in my mouth and bile rises in my throat. I shudder at each heave, nothing much more than the few sips of water Stef had given me since I'd woken up exiting my stomach, although something in there sure is trying to escape.

"That nausea still hasn't cleared up, has it?" The doctor asks, picking up the folder with my medical notes inside and flipping through them.

"I'm sorry," I croak, feeling entirely humiliated as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I feel disgusting; with the smell of vomit lingering on me and the pain in my stomach and ribs becoming more prominent, I'd give anything for a hot bath right now.

Stef's hand rubs my back comfortingly as Lena looks on, concern dominating her face. "Don't be sorry, sweets. It's okay, just get it all out."

I take a deep breath, willing the tears that threaten to fall to stay inside. After the last bout of sickness, the ache in my stomach has dispersed slightly, and Ii decide now would be a good time to ask about a shower. "Can I get–" I start, but this time the vomit comes unannounced.

I close my eyes as the grainy liquid pushes furiously up my oesophagus and lands in the bowl, although this time, the taste isn't acidic and it doesn't scold my throat. I hear Lena's gasp and Stef's "Oh my god", but before I can even contemplate putting their reactions together with my unusual vomiting, I'm being pushed back down on the bed and the sides of the gurney have been slid upright.

"_What's going on?"_

"_Where are you taking her?"_

"_Why was their blood?"_

Stef and Lena's chants buzz around my head as I focus on opening my eyes, but one word stands out like a cat in a row of dogs; _blood. _ Although I've never been a science kind of girl, I've gathered enough knowledge over the years to know that blood in your vomit can never be a good thing. It shouldn't come as a surprise – once one bad thing happens, it's silly to expect for life to give me a break just like that. No, I've learned over the years that bad things come in a string that can't be broken without further consequence. It's best to just let it finish its route, otherwise someone else will pay. It's just typical bad luck that another disaster has struck in my body. _A reminder that you shouldn't exist. A reminder that you don't deserve any of these people's time, that by being here, you're doing more harm than good. A reminder that you should just give up and let the bones stay broken and the blood stay unclotted._

Before the charade of voices fills my mind with doubt, I feel the wheels of the gurney move, and suddenly I'm being carried out the room. I peel back my eyes and examine the situation unfolding, despite the horrible drowsiness slipping over me.

I see Lena's head bobbing up and down as she listens to something the doctor is saying, far too complicated for me to understand on a normal day, never mind in the hazy state I'm in now. When I look for Stef, I see her running alongside the gurney which two new people are pushing. Her hand clasps the metal bar, knuckles white with tension. Slowly, I lift my good hand and bring it down on top of hers, squeezing as much as my weak limb allows. Her face swims in my line of vision, a sad smile forming where her tears were before.

And that's when I know. No matter how much the voices that taunt my sanity whisper that I don't matter, I know that to someone, I do. With my goal set, no one can starve me of my desires; I will walk out this hospital and no matter how much I hate the thought of it, Stef and Lena are going to be the ones to help me.

* * *

We've been waiting for over an hour in a dingy relative's room. For once, I don't see light in the motivational posters and cheerful colours, and I know how Callie feels when people try to mould her into something she's not. Changing the environment you're in doesn't change who you are, and for people to think that, surely they are the ones who are insane.

Not that Callie is insane, in fact, I know she's far from it. Before, although I hate to admit it, I had my doubts. I had thought that we understood Callie, but with her _incident _I thought that all traces of the girl we had grown to love was gone. But now, I see why Stef's opinion differed from mine. I see that we were wrong to lock her in Haven Falls and let someone else deal with her problems. I see that she's not a crazed psychopath; she's a little girl who is broken, afraid and hurt. I just wish it hadn't required her to be beaten up for me to see that what she really needs is something money can't pay for – real love. This family is her medication, and the only way to make her better is to bring her home with us.

"They've been away for over an hour, Lena. What if something's wrong?"

I look up. Stef has taken a break from pacing the room and her hands fall to her sides. She looks exhausted. I don't know what time it is, but I do know that I'd had at least two hours sleep while Callie was sleeping off the anesthesia from her operation, where Stef had refused to take her eyes off the teen the whole time we'd been at the hospital. "I'm sure it's fine. She's in great hands, you know that."

Stef's face looks ashen. "But there was blood, Lena. A lot of blood. It's not normal to vomit blood."

"I know," I say grimly, unable to hide my distress. I'm not used to being the strong half of our relationship, but I'd had enough practice when Stef had been shot. "But the doctor said she might have some internal bleeding in her abdomen due to the severity of her beating."

Even though I'm not looking, I can sense Stef's posture harden and her jaw clench. "How do they fix that? I mean, if it's internal…"

"I don't know. But Stef? Look at me." I stand from the plastic chair and walk to the centre of the room where Stef stands, looking as if she's ready to pounce at any moment. I can tell she's livid with the girls who attacked Callie. As I approach her, she levels her eyes with mine, her stare fiery and fierce, but also tearful. "We'll get those girls who did this to her, I promise you. They will pay for hurting our baby." I take her hand in mine and squeeze it tight. "But right now, we need to be here for Callie. We need to be strong for her and we need to be prepared to hear whatever news the doctors bring us about her. She needs her moms right now, no matter how much you want to run away and find those girls that hurt our Callie. But I know for a fact that even though he'd appreciate you doing that, she'd appreciate it a lot more if you were here with her now. Okay?"

Tears streak down Stef's face, and a numbness tingles over me. In the ten years I've been with Stef, there's been few occasions where she's shown me her tears.

"Okay," she breathes, sad smile forming on her tired face. I release her hand and wrap my arms around her ridged torso, pulling her in close.

"I love you," I whisper, kissing her forehead gently.

"I love you, too. Always."

I feel her pull away, but I don't let the disappointment linger for long when she pulls me over to the plastic chairs and wraps her arm around my shoulders. We sit like this for a while, the silence thick as we let our thoughts hang in the air, before finally, Stef speaks.

"What are we going to do?" She asks, her voice a little raspy from her earlier crying.

"We bring her home," I reply, not needing to ask for reference to what she's talking about.

"Do you think it's the right thing to do?"

I ponder over my answer, before finally settling on what I want to say. "Well, we did the wrong thing before and that ended in detrimental consequences. Having her with us tonight has already broken though barriers that she hadn't even begun to tackle at Haven Falls."

Stef turns to me, her blue eyes suddenly filled with excitement and longing. "So, she's coming home with us?"

I nod my head, a smile curving at my lips. "She's coming home."

"Lena Adams and Stefanie Foster?"

Stef almost jumps out of the plastic chair and scurries over to the door where the doctor stands, and I follow quickly behind. "That's us," she says, almost breathless.

"Hi there," The doctor says, offering his hand, to which we both accept, although I can tell by Stef's jittering leg that she could do without the small talk.

"How is she?" I ask, searching the doctor's face for any indication of Callie's state.

"She's stable. We just brought her back down from surgery–"

"_Surgery?!" _Stef and I cry simultaneously, not bothering to hide the shock evident in our voices.

"Callie had a splenic rupture, which is one of the most common organs to be damaged when involved in blunt trauma to the abdomen area. Unfortunately, to stop the rapid blood loss, the spleen had to be removed–"

"Why didn't you spot it sooner?" Stef interrupts, her tone aggressive. "Shouldn't you have been looking out for that kind of thing? The spleen is important for fighting off infections, couldn't you have saved it…"

"_Stef_!" I hiss, placing my hand on her bicep, warning her to take it down a notch.

"It's okay," the doctor replies, clearly unfazed by Stef's outburst. "My colleagues and I kept the option that Callie had some internal bleeding in our radar, but until she began vomiting, she hadn't emitted any symptoms. If we had known, she would have been treated right away and we could have avoided the unfavourable option of removing the spleen."

The words hit me like a slap in the face. We should have known Callie had been hiding her pain, and I can't help but think that her lack of a spleen is partly my fault. If I hadn't fallen asleep, then maybe I could have gotten Callie to open up, to tell us where she was hurting…

I let the thought idle off as the doctor explains further about Callie's condition. He tells us that the surgery was laparoscopic, which was a more favourable option and that her recovery time would be much quicker than if there had been an open surgery. There were no completions, and thankfully there was little blood lost in comparison to the severity of her accident, so a blood transfusion was not required. Although they will be keeping a very close eye on her in the next two days to ensure the blood vessels around the spleen area are working as normal and now, especially since she is more prone to infection, that her wound is kept sanitary.

I release a sigh as the doctor finishes up explaining a recovery plan to incorporate this complication into Callie's other injuries. I glance over to Stef who is paying extreme attention to the doctor's words, determined to absorb every piece of information to give Callie the best care possible. Ever since we agreed that we're going to bring Callie home with us, I've noticed the shift in the atmosphere around Stef. She seems motivated and on task, rather than the moping, nervous wreck she's been for the past few weeks. It's good to see her focused again.

"Can we see her?" I ask as the doctor is finishing up.

The doctor opens the door and gestures for us to follow him down the hall. "Sure. The nurses were just making her comfortable when I left. With any luck, she might even be awake now."

When we reach the room, Callie is lying on her back, eyes closed and her face scrunched in discomfort. I feel panic begin to raise in my stomach, but it quickly evaporates when Callie's eyes open and a small smile forms, masking the pain.

"Hey, Callie girl," Stef says, plopping down on the seat next to Callie's bed. I look around and pull one up from the other side of the room, settling down and resting my hand on Callie's blanket covered legs.

"Hi," she breathes, before bringing her available hand up to her throat, and frowning.

"What's up?" I ask, eyes widening in fear, afraid that she'll throw up more blood, even though the doctor assured us the chances of that happening are minimal.

"My throat hurts."

I feel both Stef and I slump with relief. Of course, it hurts to know our baby is uncomfortable, but in the scheme of things, a sore throat is something to be worshiped in comparison to what she's been through.

"That'll be the nasogastric tube, don't worry about it, though. You'll get used to it in a while," The doctor says, flipping through Callie's notes.

"Naso-what?" Callie questions, eyebrows furrowed and her hands still clutching her throat.

"It's basically just a tube that feeds in your nose, down your oesophagus and into your stomach to remove stomach acid and minimize any chances of nausea after the surgery."

I feel Callie stiffen beneath me again at the word 'surgery' and I'm quick to reassure her that the procedure has already taken place.

"I had my spleen removed?" She echoes my words, her hand instantly reaching down to her stomach and panic filling her eyes.

"It's okay, sweets. They stopped the bleeding and you'll feel good as new in no time," Stef assures, taking Callie's uninjured hand in her own and massaging it comfortingly.

"Okay," Callie says uncertainly, nodding her head.

"We're monitoring the situation, but if everything goes well for the rest of the day we should be able to discharge you tomorrow evening," The doctor says, scribbling something down on the clipboard before attaching it back to the frame of the bed.

"That's great news, huh?" Stef says to Callie, who all of a sudden looks pale. I can tell what she's thinking, and I feel an urgency to assure her that she won't be going back to Haven Falls ever again, but before I can speak, my phone begins to vibrate in my purse. I slide out the device and look at the caller ID – its Brandon.

Stef looks toward me questioningly and nods her head, gesturing for me to leave the room and take the call, not wanting to interrupt the doctor in his conversation with Callie and exactly what was going on with her body.

I slip out of the seat and feel Callie's eyes on me. "I'll be two minutes," I say, giving her a reassuring smile before exiting the room and hurrying down the hall.

I press the answer button and I'm met with Brandon's panicked voice, his questions firing at me one after another.

"_Mama? What's going on? Is everything okay? You didn't come home…"_

"Brandon, calm down. We're OK. Callie's had a couple of surgeries, but she's awake now," I try to keep my voice level, to be strong for Brandon at least, but my vagueness doesn't pay off quite as I'd intended.

"_Surgeries? Why on earth did she need to have surgeries?"_

I briefly explain the situation to Brandon and tell him about the incident at Haven Falls, Callie's broken collarbone and the splenic rupture, but at the end of my confession, instead of being met with more of the teen's quick-fire questions, a silence so quiet fills the line that I have to check if the call has accidently disconnected. "Brandon?

I hear him take a deep breath, as if pondering what to say before his voice breaks the silence. _"We're coming to the hospital. Do you guys need anything? I'll get Mariana to pack a bag for you and Mom with a change of clothes and–"_

I interrupt him in attempt to truncate his thoughts. Having the kids here is probably not what Callie needs right now. "Brandon, I can't let you do that. You have school and other important activities you all have to attend."

"_I'll have my dad call Principal Sanchez to explain everything and excuse us from school._ _It's a family crisis and I'm sure the school will understand. Besides, aren't you the one who always says that you should be surrounded by family in times of need?" _

I sigh. He's always been good at turning my own words against me. "Yes, but Brandon–"

"_No, Mama. We're coming. If we can't be there for Callie, at least let us be there for you and Mom, alright?"_

I listen to the struggle in his voice. He's obviously worried, and my haphazard attempt to sugar coat Callie's condition hasn't reassured him by any means. "Okay," I say eventually, half because I don't have the heart to shun his kind actions, and half because I don't have the energy to challenge him at the moment. "Bring a change of clothes for your mom and me, and also have Mariana bring some things for Callie, too."

"_Of course."_ His stubbornness reminds me of Stef and I smile. He has good intentions at heart, but now I have to find a way to drop the bomb to Stef that the whole family is coming for a day visit, never mind to Callie.

"Be careful, okay? And I hope you've been on your best behaviour, all of you."

"_We have been. Love you, Mama," _he replies, clearly pleased that he'd managed to convince me into letting them come.

"Love you too, B. See you in a while."

I disconnect the call and release a sigh of content. While the kid's last minute visit might get me a slap on the wrist from Stef, I'm sure Callie will be in favour when she finds out she'll finally get to see Jude. Besides, having Mariana, Jesus, Brandon and Jude around will come as a welcomed distraction from all of the stress over Callie's medical state – my mind feels as if it is ready to explode with the plethora of names of medications and clinical jargon.

Before I reach the door to Callie's room, I pause, peering through the glass window. The doctor is hovering over Callie, inserting something into her IV bag, and the teen's hand is clasped to the Stef's. I smile at the exchange. Before any of this, it was a rare occurrence that Callie show physical affection with anyone other than Jude. I hope that this will be at least one _good_ thing to come out of Callie's recent hardships.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the reviews and suggestions! They really helped, and I've incorporated a lot of what you guys want to see into the next couple of chapters. _

_Also, I'd like to apologize for my random update schedule - I'm right in the middle of exams at the moment so you'll have to bear with me, but I'll try to write/update as frequently as possible. _

_Next chapter: The whole family is reunited - what will that mean for Callie and Jude? ...And Stef takes matters into her own hands when she visits Dr Ashford at Haven Falls._

_Please review and continue to leave in your suggestions - I really appreciate the feedback and hearing what you want to see! _


	11. Chapter 11

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes was all it took for my life to turn into an explosive.

After the doctor had explained the repercussions of both my surgeries, Stef had practically vowed never to take her eyes off me ever again, and while in my current state of fragility and confusion I welcome the idea, I know that having Stef on my back for the next few weeks is bound to get old. Hell, maybe _she'll_ be the cause of my explosion.

I tried to listen as much as I could to what the middle aged man had to say, but the pain meds were beginning to take effect and drowsiness enveloped me into its warm embrace. I knew I'd fallen asleep, but I didn't anticipate how long for, or who I'd wake up to.

I peel my eyes open – the act starting to feel almost routine now as I pull myself out from the cocktail of pain relief's grogginess – only to instantly clamp them back shut when I see the figures surrounding the bed.

At first, I think it's a hallucination. Whatever they have me on must be pretty strong – after all, I did think my arm had been chopped off.

But when the voices around me quieten and the bed squeaks from loss of pressure, I know that what I saw was most definitely real.

"Callie?"

Lena's voice is soft, warm and comforting like a blanket. It's a voice that could tempt me into her arms any day, but not now. No, I'd rather go without a blanket for a week if it meant being able to fall back asleep and not having to face the room full of people that sit before me, eagerly awaiting my awakening.

The idea of seeing them terrifies me, but nothing can compare to the fear and dread that boils in my stomach at the thought of seeing Jude.

My whole time in Haven Falls, I'd been determined to see Jude, to speak to him, to get _out_ for him. But now I can barely hold back the nausea as I anticipate the look on his face.

I don't know what they've told him; in fact, I don't know what any of the Foster siblings know about That Night two weeks ago.

But if Jude ever finds out…if he hears from somebody that I'd tried to kill myself, then I think I'd rather be dead. He'd think I'm selfish. He'd think I chose to leave him. He'd think that I thought I couldn't trust him.

He'd think that I'd rather be dead than be with him. I'd hurt him, and I'd broken the promise he'd asked me to keep our entire lives. We weren't supposed to be split up.

But _he_ has to know, even if no one else believes me, that dying was never my intention. Suicide has never been an option, no matter how hard it gets – I could never leave Jude on his own in the system. I'd always been terrified in case Jude found out I'd been hurting myself, but I'd take that any day over him thinking I'd tried to kill myself.

All of a sudden, it's too much. For once in my life, I know I'm not going to be able to be strong for Jude – I'm not going to be able to cover this one up. And that thought _terrifies _me. I can feel my pulse quicken, and I know it's too late now; they'll know I'm awake, if the eye opening wasn't enough to tell them before.

I wish it was easy to channel strength. Each day I spent in Haven Falls, I felt my constant need to be strong fade away a little, and I want to curse myself for letting my guard down, for letting people into my head, because I know the only way I'll be able to get through this visit is with the walls pulled up.

It's stupid, but when you depend on this false sense of strength to get you through things in life that normal people never have to experience, it kind of feels like you've been robbed of a security blanket when that sense of control is taken away.

But no matter how hard I try, I _know _the walls will never go back up fully – Stef and Lena made sure of that a good few hours ago. I'd finally accepted their love and, no matter how foreign and odd it feels to say it, I secretly relish the idea.

Maybe if my walls can't get me through this visit, their love can.

"I think she's still sleeping." I hear Jesus speak, his voice sending shivers of nostalgia down my spine. It's been weeks since I've heard that voice, and I hadn't realised how much I've missed it until now.

"Maybe we should come back later…"

It's Brandon this time, and my heart lurches at his disappointment. As much as I'm in favour of Brandon's idea, I know that I can't keep hiding. I can only stay 'asleep' for so long.

I take a deep breath, not quite anticipating the pain it's going to send through my mutilated body, and summon up the courage to open my eyes. I drag them over the room, taking in the surroundings. Mariana and Jesus are sat on a chair by the side of the bed, Brandon stands at the foot of the bed, Stef by his side, and Lena and Jude are perched on the edge of the hospital bed. The room had been small before and my brain questions how on earth everyone managed to fit inside, while my visitors surround me and welcome me back into consciousness with a charade of greetings and cheers. The voices overlap each other, blending into one chorus, making it difficult to pick out just one. I try to focus on their faces, but their impeding figures surrounding me make me clam up, claustrophobia taking over.

"Guys, step back. Give her some space, come on!"

Its Stef's voice. Full on cop mode. Usually, that tone would give me shivers, but I've never been more grateful for her choice of profession than I am now.

Her request is met with a flurry of sighs and groans, and I let my eyes slip shut as I feel a hand lock with mine. "I know you're excited, but we need to at least give her a chance to wake up first, alright?" She continues, before turning round to face me. "Callie?"

I take another breath, mustering up the courage to open my eyes again. I hate that I've become so weak, so…frightened of everything. I look up, and Stef's face is close to mine, her eyes warm and inviting. "Are you alright?"

My eyes wander the room again as I contemplate my answer. Jude is hovering behind Stef, his hand clamped in Lena's tightly. I almost cry out when I see his face. His perfect, ivory skin, his ruffle of brown hair that he'd taken an interest in styling lately, another sign that my baby brother isn't that much of a baby anymore; it all brings the guilt on further.

"Callie?" Stef says again, her hand smoothing my hair, and I force my eyes from Jude and back to the blonde.

I nod my head. "Yeah. Yes, I'm fine."

It's as if this confirmation is a silent message between the two moms, because as soon as Stef's hand slips out of mine, Jude's face is in front of me, his eyes wide. He looks me over, as if he's trying to decide where is safe to touch me, and all of a sudden, I let go. I don't care about the pain that jolts up my left side, or the ache in my right shoulder, or a_ny _of the niggles and twitches that scream for my body to stop. I let the dread and anxiety of Jude's reaction to That Night dissipate to the back of my mind, where I can deal with it later.

But right now, I pull my brother into my arms and cling to him for dear life. My eyes close as I feel him return the hug, his small hands wrapping tenderly around my torso. "I'm here, baby. I'm so sorry," I murmur into his ear, pulling back and examining his face. "I'm so, so sorry. Everything will be okay now." I run my hands through his hair, his scent bringing tears to my eyes.

"I love you, Callie," he whispers, and I watch as his eyes brim over.

"Baby, don't cry. Please." I bring my thumb to his cheek, wiping away the tears that roll down his soft, innocent skin. "I love you so much Jude, and I promise I'll never leave you again."

Out of habit, I find myself searching his body, running my hands over his small limbs, checking for bashes or bruises. I _know _he is safe with the Fosters, and I know no harm could ever come to him there, but even when I feel Stef stiffen beside me and Lena's breath hitch, I can't bring myself to stop the words spilling from my mouth, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The pain is evident on Lena's face, but I don't let the guilt bother me yet – that can wait in the corner of my mind for later, too. Jude looks at me, almost angry at first, and I can tell our moment is over. "I'm fine, Callie," he says roughly, as he pulls out of my grip and walks over towards the twins, who are looking at something on Jesus's cell phone.

The rejection hurts more than I'd anticipated. I _know _I shouldn't have said that – the looks on the moms face told me just as much – but after everything that's happened throughout our lives, I had to know he was okay. It almost feels like a knife is being stabbed through my heart as I watch Jude slide onto Mariana's lap, his mouth curving upwards as he sees what they're looking at.

_He doesn't need you anymore. He has a new family now, that you're not part of. There's obviously been lots of changes since you've been away and he doesn't need you anymore. She's a better big sister than you'll ever be. You left him, you chose _this_ over him, and he knows it. You shouldn't blame him for warming up to her – she's everything that you're not; happy, friendly, bubbly, pretty and _nice. _Not some screwed up trash who kept him in a bubble his whole life. _

I feel moisture pool around my eyes, but I'm quick to swipe away the tears before they fall. "Callie…" Stef says, edging closer to me. I feel everyone's eyes on me, judging me, watching me in precaution, like I'm a ticking time bomb, about to blow at any moment.

"I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. I need to get through this visit; I _won't _break down with all of these people here to watch. "I'm okay."

The two women share a look of doubt, before Stef sits back down on the seat and Lena back on the bed. I can tell I'm going to be questioned later.

I take a deep breath, realising that the silence is going to remain until I break it. Not even Jesus, the king of ice breaking comments, has mustered up the courage to speak yet. "So, how are you guys?" I ask, my voice uneven.

"We're good," Brandon says, taking the lead. "I got a call back for a junior symphony orchestra."

My eyes widen, and for the first time in a while, I manage to feel something that's almost like happy. "Wow, that's great, Brandon. Amazing."

He smiles a little, cocking his head to the side, as if he's trying to figure me out. "Thanks."

From there, it's as if the others in the room have found their staging, as if they'd been afraid of what to and what not to say before coming in here. Jesus stands and walks towards the bed, and the conversation begins to flow just as if it were taking place around the table in the Foster's kitchen. I notice Lena smile when I join in, and I feel a little less guilty about my doubt of Jude's safety in their care. Jude, however, shows no sign of his mood with me diffusing. It almost hurts to look at him as he sulks in the corner, occupied with Mariana's cell phone, as the rest of the family chatter on about some TV show and attempt to make me laugh with stories from school.

About an hour later, the doctor makes an appearance, claiming that it's time for my meds. Luckily, Lena ushers the family out after I give her a pleading look. I found it hard enough to talk with them as it was, never mind in a drug induced state where I'd be saying god knows what.

Mariana gives me a half hug, and the boys tell me they'll see me later before all three siblings exit the room. I close my eyes, sighing in content, but reopen them when I feel Jude's presence beside me. He looks at me, and I can tell by the fear in his green eyes, the way he clenches his hands and bites his cheek to keep from crying that he feels bad about the way he's acted. "Callie…" he begins to say, looking down at his feet.

"It's okay, baby," I whisper, as the doctor pumps a needle into my IV. I can feel the drowsiness slipping through my veins, and I know that the conversation I need to have with Jude will have to wait until later. "Go see the other's out there. I'll speak to you later, okay?"

He looks like he wants to protest, like he wants to hop on the bed and curl up beside me – and right now, I want nothing more than that, too – but with one look from Stef, he nods his head sullenly and walks out of the room.

As I sink further under the morphine's mask, I try to listen as the moms talk to the doctor, but I can barely understand the words anyone's saying. What could be minutes or hours later, Stef announces that she has to head to the station. Lena looks at her curiously, but I don't blame her for needing to escape – god knows I would if I could. She assures us she'll be back later before making a swift exit, causing Lena to release a triumphant sigh.

"Do you want me to sit with you for a while?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

I want to shake my head no, to tell her that I'll be okay and that she should go be with the other kids, but I find myself grinning widely and saying a hyperbolic, "Yessss."

Lena looks at me incredulously before letting out a soft giggle, and placing her hand in mine, sits down on the plastic chair beside the bed. She rubs my hand in circles, being mindful of the IV port that juts its way into my blue vein, and I watch her carefully. I realise, if I squint my eyes a little and tilt my head to the side, she could almost be my mom. The action she's completing now is something that my mom used to do to sooth me to sleep at night when I was a kid, and sometimes, I used to fake a nightmare just so she'd come and sit with me rubbing the palm of my hand in soothing motions.

"I love you, Mommy…" I hear myself whisper, but before I can be embarrassed, or gauge Lena's reaction, sleep takes me captive and I'm thrown into a world of innocent dreams for the first time in weeks.

* * *

_Stef_

The afternoon sun is warm on my skin through the window as I rest my hand along the side of the door. I knew I should have taken the back route – hitting rush hour was not something I typically enjoyed, but today of all days, I could really do without lagging behind the trail of cars on the highway.

I know Lena will be mad – _angry_, even – that I didn't consult her before deciding to do this, but she would have been able to talk me out of it, help me make sense of the situation. But the girls who attacked Callie didn't make sense of the situation before they threw the first punch to her stomach, so why should I? I'm a cop, I have pretty good judgement call – or so my boss tells me, anyway.

It was only a few days ago at this exact time Lena and I were driving out to Haven Falls for the first time, and even then I had been uncomfortable about the situation. I was relying on this 'Dr Ashford' and her staff to look after my daughter, to prevent her from hurting herself. The least of my worries should have been wondering whether there were people in that place who wanted to hurt _Callie, _and yet it still happened.

Finally, the traffic subsides, and I start off down the highway fast. I need to be quick about this; partly so I'm back in plausible time to have just been down at the station, and partly because I'm afraid that I'll chicken out before I get the chance to lay my eyes on Dr Ashford and the people who had almost cost Callie her life.

I'm numb as I walk through the parking lot and towards the front doors of the hospital, Lena's voice in my head, warning me to think about what I'm doing. But as I press the buzzer on the door, as I smell the waft of cleaning fluid on the sterile floors of the hallways, the guilt begins to bubble in my stomach. Every turn I take towards Dr Ashford's office a new wave of nausea hits as I imagine what it must have been like not to only feel like you've been thrown in some _treatment facility _by two women who you thought you could trust, but to be assaulted further by the kids who are suffering just as much as you, too.

I know deep down that our intentions were good when we agreed to admit Callie here, but recently – especially since the Jacob siblings entered my life – I've been starting to care less for people's intentions, and more so for what their actual actions reprimand. Sometimes, you have to take the unorthodox route, and I wish we'd been able to see that that was the direction we should have gone with Callie before any of _this_ happened.

Before I can dwell further into my own self-loathing, I spot the familiar dark haired doctor along the hall, her face buried in a file. I pick up my pace, determined to catch up to her. I'm not leaving here without her knowing that we're not okay with how Callie was treated.

"Dr Ashford," I call when I'm only a short distance behind her. The woman turns around and her eyes widen, not recognising me in my uniform.

She pushes her glasses down the bridge of her nose, eyes squinting before she questions me. "Stef Foster? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to talk about Callie." My uniform gives me a sense of courage, almost like holding authority over this woman is what's allowing me to be so forceful – I know for sure the words would have come out a lot more timid had I been dressed regularly.

Dr Ashford sighs, switching her weight down to her left hand side as she pulls up her arm, glancing at a watch. "I think you'll have to make an appointment. If you–"

The blood boils inside my veins at the woman's suggestion. If she seriously thinks I am about to leave without talking to her, then she has it all wrong. "No, I won't make an appointment. I think here will be just perfect to have a conversation about the fact that you allowed some _delinquents_ to attack _my_ daughter in a place that I was assured is _'one of the safest in the state of California'."_

My temper is raising, and by the look on Dr Ashford's face, it's apparent that she's shocked by my words.

The woman looks around nervously, obviously afraid that my outburst has attracted eavesdroppers. "Stef…why don't we take this into my office?"

I want to protest – I want everyone to know that there are dangerous girls in this facility and staff who can turn a blind eye. But I know for the sake of my dignity and my duty that this conversation will have to be held at a more private venue. I nod my head in approval of her suggestion to which she offers a tight lipped smile in return, before she guides me down the hall and into a similarly clinical office.

"Stef, I can assure you that we don't promote that type of behaviour here at Haven Falls," she says, taking a seat at her desk and gesturing for me to take the couch by the window. But I don't; I won't give her the satisfaction of being able to boss me around. I'm the cop, after all.

I fold my arms, shaking my head at her comment, "Well it sure doesn't seem that way."

"How is she? Callie, I mean."

As I explain the repercussions of her beating, Dr Ashford's face pales, and I can begin to feel myself feeling nauseous just thinking of Callie's purple skin and swollen face. "But that's beside the point," I start, only to have the doctor give me a quizzical look. "When we brought Callie and her brother Jude to live with us, I promised her that I would never let anything happen to her again. After I found out about…about the rape…I made that promise again."

The woman looks unfazed, as if she's trying to piece together the significance of my words. Do I literally have to spell it out to her? "I promised Callie that I wouldn't let anybody hurt her again. That girl, she's been through more than any of us know, and it took so much time for her to let Lena and I in – for her to trust us."

She nods before sighing sympathetically. "Stef, you and Lena really did a great job – I've never doubted that at all in the short time I've known Callie."

As she speaks, I unfold my arms and walk close to her desk, bending down so my face is directly in line with hers. "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say here. Callie is tough, she really is, but only to an extent. I don't need _you _to tell me that she has issues with voicing her feelings, or confrontation – because I _know_ that deep down, she is fragile. She's extremely fragile, but it's a side that no one ever got to see before she took the blade to her wrists. But here, she was exposed and open. The people knew everything about her – she had no way of hiding. That promise that I made her? That was one of the only things keeping her from completely mistrusting my wife and I – her _moms. _ But when she came her, she was hurt. She was hurt really badly, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. But _you _could have. Instead, I broke my promise, and truthfully, I don't know if she's ever going to be able to fully trust anyone ever again."

I feel my limbs shaking. With the realisation of the words I've just voiced, I want to either burst into tears or take a swing at the wall. But instead, I focus my eyes on the woman before me, challenging her with a stare-down until she responds.

"Stef, you can't blame yourself for this," she begins, and I have to stifle an incredulous laugh at her reply.

"No. I'm blaming you, and your team of attendants, and whichever one of those girls who felt the need to break my daughter in half." My tone is sharp. I can feel myself getting riled up, but I can't bring myself to stop. In truth, I _was_ blaming myself. I was blaming myself for sending Callie here in the first place, for accepting the nurse's half-hearted responses when we questioned them about Callie's progress on visiting day, but mostly, I blamed myself for not insisting that she stay downstairs and eat dinner with us the night she tried to kill herself.

"It's natural to feel guilty, Stef. But you have to remember, Callie is her own person. You couldn't have done anything to prevent this outcome – Callie, she's not well. It would have happened at some point anyway…"

As the doctor carries on talking, I realise that this has gone from a discussion about seeking justice for Callie, to a therapy session – me being the patient. This had gone horribly wrong. I was stupid to even think coming here could help in any way. If Lena was here right now – if she'd known I'd even come – she'd be shaking her head with satisfaction and chanting _'I told you so'._

I stiffen my posture, interrupting the doctor's drabble about breathing exercises to prevent sleepless nights of brain-wrecking guilt before muttering a quick "I have to go" before turning on my heel and practically scampering out the door. I want Callie to get her justice, but _this_ plan was far from genius.

I'm looking down the corridor, trying to recall which way I'd come from, when I spot them. The group of girls range in size although a good proportion of them are shockingly underweight, but this only makes the large, tough looking black girl stand out further.

I realise I've been standing still for too long and they've spotted me. However, their eyes aren't wide in fear or concern like I'd expected – I am dressed in my uniform, after all. No, the cop uniform doesn't seem to faze them, and neither does the hard set grimace on my face.

Just by their sneers and whispers, I can tell instantly that this is the group of girls who played a part in landing Callie in the hospital.

"…psycho's dyke mom…"

"She's a cop? Should've seen that coming…"

"…wonder if she's as fucked up as her kid…"

As I listen to their taunting whispers, my hands begin to shake with rage and I feel my feet begin to maneuver themselves towards the group of lingering teens. Hearing those words, _those insults_, almost makes me feel like I imagine Callie did the other night when they did this to her. I recall her words from last night:

"…_But when she…when she started saying things I just cracked. I just needed to get out and I guess I shoved her and I really shouldn't have because she's, like, six foot tall and then she just started hitting me and kicking me and I…"_

As I approach the girls, they silence, almost all of them sporting a smug smirk. I let my eyes run over the group, from the skinny girls who look like they could keel over at any moment, to the twitching addicts, until my eyes finally land back on that big built black girl.

Where each of the girls had challenged my stare, this girl almost seems to shy away, her eyes cast downward to the floor as I close the space between us. The girl is tall, not quite six foot, but definitely taller than Callie, and definitely tough enough that even _I_ would have a hard time restraining her if it came to that point. And I know it was her. It was this disgrace of a human who broke Callie's bones like they were bread sticks. Who ripped the hair from her scalp chunks at a time, and who broke the promise I'd made to my daughter.

For the first time in my life, I feel my seething anger almost overpower my morality. It takes everything in me not to throw my fist into the girl's face, and bring my knees up into her stomach, just as she had done to Callie only hours earlier. But the ashen look on her face is enough to stifle my fury as I line my face with hers and hiss, "You will _not _get away with this."

I turn away from the group, whose faces have grown fearful and wary, and walk calmly out of the building. As I enter the car, I take a deep breath, forcing all the anger to leave my body and seep out of my pores. I feel my composure lower, and I suddenly feel exhausted.

I'll file a police report and work goddamn hard to make that girl pay for what she did to Callie, but it will never be enough to satisfy the unsettled feeling in my stomach. Nothing ever will, because knowing that I could have stopped this, _all of this_, makes me feel like the worst excuse for a mother in the world.

Maybe, if I'd acted on my suspicion that something wasn't quite right with Callie that first day we went to visit her, or maybe if I'd refused to have her admitted to Haven Falls in the first place, none of this would have happened. Maybe if I'd just insisted that she let us comfort her on That Night, she wouldn't have been left alone long enough to…

Maybe, if instead of forcing all our concerns into getting organised for this _stupid_ wedding, then we would have been able to give her all the comfort and love and care that she'd been waiting on for so, so long.

As my mind whirls with 'what ifs' I don't notice the tears that roll down my cheeks, or the way my body begins convulsing as I release sob after sob after sob. It's not until my phone buzzes in my belt that I'm shaken from my hysteria, and my heart instantly lurches, thinking of the worst. It's just Lena, asking when I'll be back because the kids are driving her crazy. I release a little chuckle as I stare at my reflection in the car mirror. I wipe away the tears from my puffy eyes, and take a deep breath. "You're a cop, Stefanie. You're a damn good cop, and cops don't cry. Now pull yourself together and go be with your family."

My pep talk works. I slide put the car into drive, and pull out of the parking lot, determined to keep the tears at bay while I make my way to the hospital.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Sorry about the long wait for this chapter - exams are in full swing now. _

_So, Stef might seem a little out of character this chapter, but I really want to show exactly how she's feeling - which we will get to more in further chapters. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed this!_

_Soon we'll have a little bit of drama and Callie's long awaited homecoming...but how will everyone feel about the idea?_

_Please review - it really helps to know what you guys are thinking! Thanks again - K :)_


	12. Chapter 12

I'm alone when I wake. The room is quiet – the rest of the Foster clan is nowhere to be seen, and I feel something that's almost a little like disappointment. As I shuffle my stiff body round into a comfy position, I feel a twinge of pain in my lower abdomen. I'm not especially worried at first – I know it isn't my spleen (or lack thereof) – because the doctor had assured me that it was my left hand side I would experience discomfort from, and the source of this pain seems…well, lower down than that. It isn't until I press my hand to my bladder area that I realise that I need the toilet. Badly.

Not quite sure what to do with myself, I clench my jaw as I attempt to sit up. Surely there has to be some kind of call button in here where I could summon a nurse, or _someone _to detach me from all these wires and tubes, but the more I move around, the less I'm able to keep the liquid inside my bladder. If I don't get myself across the room and into that toilet soon, I'm going to wet myself, and that is _not_ an option.

With a sudden new burst of mental determination, I press my hands to the bed in attempt to hoist myself down onto the floor. The latter is easier said than done – apparently my muscles are not as inspired by my desperation to save myself the mortification of peeing myself as my mental drive – and I all but collapse onto the ground, the metal IV pole tumbling down after me with a loud clash.

The immediate pain is first what strikes me, the burning sensation that traverses through my limbs is enough to send out a silent shriek of pain masked by a string of profanities as I curse myself for not being able to do the simplest things without failure. I know it's pointless even trying to get up; I wasted any energy I had mustering up the strength to shift myself onto the floor. So I curl myself into a half sitting position, desperately clenching onto my stomach despite the niggle of pain from the surgery, in attempt to salvage at least a fraction of my dignity. I will _not _pee myself.

Like a miracle, the familiar voices of the family I'd wanted to dissipate into thin air just hours earlier begin to sound outside the room. I send a silent pray of thanks to the heavens as the voices grow louder, and I see Lena's head of curls bob outside the door's tiny window.

"Wait out here just now, I'll just go check to see if she's awake," I hear Lena say, as the door swings open and her shoes squeak on the linoleum floor, before coming to a halt, obviously faced with the empty bed.

"Lena…" I say flatly, before I'm met with her face as she comes round the side of the bed.

She's quick to come down to my level, her face contorting from shock to concern. "Callie! What happened? Are you alright?"

"I…uhm, I needed the toilet," I admit quietly, feeling my face redden with embarrassment.

Lena's eyes soften as she stops assessing my body for signs of visible injury and takes in my words. "Oh, Callie." She reaches for me, pulling me into an embrace, and for the first time, I don't feel myself flinching. The fall had shaken me, and it feels good to be in the warmth of Lena's arms.

But the feeling of warmth soon turns a little _too_ warm for my liking, and I pull away from Lena as wetness pools around my gown. My eyes widen with the realisation. All that strength I'd wasted trying to get off the bed, the pain that had shaken my body as I'd tumbled to the floor – all for nothing. I'd peed myself anyway. "Lena..." I say again, my palms beginning to clam up with mortification.

Her eyes stray from my face and to where I'm staring. "What is it, sweets?"

I cringe. _Am I really going to have to spell it out for her?_ "I…" But the words don't come, and I feel tears brimming at my eyes.

I can barely look at her in fear of folding in on myself in embarrassment, but soon her eyes widen with realisation. "Oh," she sighs, but it's not a tone of disgust like I'd expected – in fact, it's the opposite. She leans closer, ignoring the puddle beneath my gown, and places her hand under my chin, propping my head up to look at her. She looks at me, really, really looking, as if she's trying to see into my soul. Normally, I'd shy away from such an intense stare, but somehow I find myself longing for the older woman to keep looking – no one else has ever bothered to before, nor have I let them. But I think it's time to make an exception. All too soon, though, a soft smile replaces her focused pout. "Let's go get you cleaned up, babe."

oOo

After the nurses had detached me from the monitor I was hooked up to and the IV had been temporarily removed from my hand, they had done a quick assessment, despite my protests that I was fine. As I had anticipated, my tumble hadn't had any lasting damage, but they had warned me that it could have been a lot worse, and that I was to call whenever I needed something.

I let Lena help me over to the bathroom, a compromise that had arisen after my refusal to be taken ten feet across the hall in a wheelchair. Secretly, though, I was grateful for her help – I wouldn't admit it, but my body _was_ feeling a little achy after the fall, and it was exhausting just trying to stand up by myself, never mind walking alone.

Now, after I'd used the toilet, I start to head for the shower cubicle before hesitating as I recall the last time I'd showered. My body tenses and the bruises and breaks in my bones tingle like it's happening all over again. I take a deep breath, shuddering before turning away from the shower. _ I guess I can skip another day...I don't smell too bad, right? _ I know that I do – I'd just wet myself, after all, but no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I might as well get it over with, I can't push the fear of entering the shower cubicle away, the girls voices all too present in the corners of my subconscious mind.

Instead, I decide to busy myself by heaving my body over to the sink, but the idea soon loses its appeal when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. My face is swollen and _purple_ – really, really purple, way worse than the day I'd been released from juvie and taken in by the Fosters. My lips are bust (cracked is an understatement) and across the right side of my forehead runs a long, deep gash covered with some kind of medical tape that I assume hides a row of butterfly stitches. But what really shocks me is the tangled mass that is my hair – I look like some kind of medusa with the amount of matts there are. I raise my free hand up, attempting to detangle at least some of the knots to make me look somewhat presentable, only to wince in pain when a clump of crusty blood matted stuff comes away in my hands. I repeat the action, watching carefully in the mirror this time, and out comes more. It takes me several moments of staring at the gross lumps in my hands to realise that the 'stuff' is hair. _My_ hair.

I can vaguely sense Lena's presence behind me, but I'm too deep in concentration to acknowledge her presence. My mind flashes back to the night before, the girl kicking me in the stomach, _yanking at my hair…_ and then it becomes almost obvious.

At least that explains the implacable tender sensation my head has been portraying non-stop for the past twelve hours.

Lena's hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I meet her solemn gaze in the mirror. "I.."

I can't find the words to speak – what is there to say? – so I just stare down at the clumps of hair that I'd since deposited in the sink.

"Do you want me to help you in the shower? I could wash your hair for you, if you want?" I can sense Lena's hesitancy; her voice wavering even though she'd tried to hide it.

Normally, I'd be horrified at the thought of Lena – or anyone, for that matter – helping in such an awkward scenario, but the past day's events haven't been _normal_ and after this incident, I don't think anything will ever be again. But despite my traditional hostile ways that I'd become so accustomed to over the past six years, I feel myself thirsting for Lena's comfort just as I had a few hours ago. In a way, admitting that I need Lena's help – that I _want _Lena's help – is even more terrifying than facing the shower cubicle, where the memories of the attack promise to arise and pull me into a realm of fear and paranoia. But what better way to conquer a fear, than to do two at a time?

I bring my eyes back to Lena's reflection, her stare never having left me. I suck in a breath and nod my head slightly, before shuffling back over to the shower cubicle, not missing the tiny smile that graces her face. And it makes me feel almost a little happy too, knowing that I'm pleasing her – hopefully it'll make the experience a little less mortifying.

oOo

It took a good thirty minutes of gentle teasing and tender prying, but soon enough my hair was almost knot free – and considerably thinner. Although it couldn't be confirmed until it was dry, Lena assured my panic stricken face when I'd seen the worryingly large pile of brown hair littering the shower floor, that it looked just fine. I however wasn't so convinced, judging by the lightness of my head, anyway.

All in all, the whole ordeal hadn't been as torturous as I'd imagined. Having Lena there had definitely calmed my previous fears about entering the showers. Every now and then, she'd squeeze my tense shoulder – the one that _wasn't _held up in a sling – reassuringly, and it had done the job. Thankfully, she'd accepted my silent pleads to pull the curtain over so I could was my body without her presence, although I knew she was close by, terrified in case I had another stumble.

Now, I sit back in bed, exhaustion creeping in, but it _does _feel good to be clean. I'm just about to let my eyes drift shut when I hear the doors swing open and a flurry of activity arouses around the bed. At the sound of Mariana's clicking sandals, Jesus's tapping foot, Brandon's whistling and Jude's chewing of fingernails, I inwardly groan. But then, I remember they've been waiting outside for over an hour – and have spent the whole day at the hospital – and my guilty conscience takes over and I peel open my eyes.

"Callie!" Mariana shrieks, almost too enthusiastically. "You look…better."

"Thanks," I reply, half-heartedly. I know I still look awful, but I can imagine I do look slightly less _phantom_ than beforehand. Either way, the compliment means a lot coming from Mariana, seeing as she is always on top of her appearance.

This time, the visit is more pleasurable than the last. The awkwardness has subsided marginally, and even Jude has lost the attitude he's been possessing earlier on. Even when we've run out of things to talk about, the silence is comfortable as the twins tap away on their phones, Brandon listens to his iPod and Lena and Jude flick through a fashion magazine.

I try to stay awake for as long as I can – I do really enjoy their company – but I literally feel my head drooping as I fight sleep. It's Jude who notices my lethargy.

"Callie, are you okay?"

I can see the hint of worry in his eyes as he perches on the edge of the plastic chair he and Lena are sharing, and I'm quick to reassure him. "I'm fine, bud. Just tired, that's all."

"We can go and let you sleep, if that's what you want?" Lena asks, folding the magazine shut and placing it in her lap.

I nod my head yes, suddenly feeling guilty about chasing them away. "I don't mean to throw you guys out…"

"It's okay, we totally get it," Mariana says, coming to give me a gentle hug, and I take a moment to inhale the smell of her shampoo – the same one Lena uses, and that I'd taken to borrowing, too.

Jesus is next to reassure me. "Yeah, don't worry about it. I mean, we'll have plenty of time to hang out when you get home in a few days."

"_Home?"_ The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them, and I jerk my before sleepy eyes up to Lena, whose face is a mix of confusion and…_annoyance?_

"Well of course! Moms aren't going to send you back after-"Brandon starts, but is cut off my Lena.

"Alright you guys, out you go – I'll meet you downstairs in a minute." Her tone is sharp, and the kids don't protest, mumbling various _bye Callie_sas they trudge out of the room.

"Callie," she starts, turning to face me, but is interrupted by the doors swinging open once again. Lena stands, preparing to scold one of her children, but is met by Stef instead. "Finally! What took you so long?"

"Uhh, busy traffic?" Stef replies, almost unsure. I can tell by the look on Lena's face that this isn't the truth, and when I look towards Stef for the first time, I see her eyes are a little puffy like she's been crying.

"Well. At least you're here now." Lena sounds calm, and turns to face towards me, when Stef interrupts again.

"Hey, Callie. You're looking a little better," she says, a sympathetic smile crossing her face as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, sweets?"

"Alright," I say, almost nonchalant, but this only earns me pointed stares from both the women surrounding me. "A little sore, actually," I admit sheepishly.

Lena sighs, before explaining to Stef, "Callie here had a little tumble earlier."

Immediately, Stef's eyes widen and her face creases with worry. "What? Are you okay? I…What happened?"

"Everything's fine, Stef. Don't worry," I say, a little harsher than I'd intended. She looks like she wants to protest, to tell me off for being so clipped, but the desire seems to fade when she sees the guilt and humiliation that hasn't left my eyes for the past hour.

She sighs and encases my hand in hers. "You've got to let us help you, love. You don't need to feel bad or weak or whatever about needing a helping hand to do stuff. Especially when we get you home, your brothers and sister will be _a lot _harder to fight help from than us!"

"Speaking of home…" Lena continues, eyeing Stef before placing her attention firmly back on me. "You didn't think we'd be taking you home with us? I thought we'd been over this, Callie. We _want _you, I don't know how many more times we can make that clear to you…unless _you _don't want _us?"_

I look up from the spot on the bed I'd been staring at in horror. _How could they think that?_ "No!" I practically yell. "What you've done for me…for _Jude_…its more than I could ever ask for and I'm so, so grateful. I want to be with you," I say, quick to reassure their faces, shocked from my outburst.

"Then, why…?"

I make myself busy, pulling at the surgical tape on my hand around the IV port, so I don't have to look at them. "I don't know. I figured that you'd send me back to Haven Falls for a while before you let me back in your house."

"We would _never _send you back there. Out of all things to worry about, going back there doesn't have to be one of them." Stef sounds almost horrified as she dismisses my thought, and I can't help but scoff at her attitude.

"Why not? It didn't seem that hard for you to send me there in the first place. What makes it any different now?"

"Callie…" Lena warns, her eyebrows raised, but for the first time in days, that's not enough for me – or Stef, for that matter – to back down.

Stef's jaw is tight and her tone is sharp as she speaks. "You _know_ why not, Callie. And as for sending you there before? Mama and I made that decision because we thought it was what was best for _you_. We were terrified, Callie. If we didn't think that taking you to that treatment facility was for the best, then we wouldn't have done it. It's just a shame that things had to turn out like this."

"What's that supposed to mean? '_Like this'_ as in me coming back into your perfect lives and wreaking havoc again?" I challenge, my voice raised.

"That's not what I meant, Callie…" Stef sighs, placing her head in her hands.

"No, I think that's _exactly_ what you meant. I mean, I don't know why I'm surprised. You finally broke free of me, you've got Jude on his own now – you can adopt him now and add him to your perfect little family without me tagging along. I guess I should've known all along how this would turn out. Go on, just say it–"

"Callie, _stop this!_" My spiteful rambling is interrupted by Lena's raised voice. Her hand goes slack in mine, and she pushes back from the bed and begins to pace the room, her hands brushing through her wild curls.

What am I doing? Why all of a sudden am I trying to make them hate me? I don't _want_ them to hate me. I want more than anything to be able to go home and have movie nights with the family and sit around the kitchen table in the evening and join in with the sibling banter that makes Lena and Stef shake their heads, but really, they beam with pride as they watch over their beautiful family. I want to be a part of that. So why am I pushing them away?

_Because you don't know how to react to being wanted._

I look around the room and expect to see two angry faces, to confirm that they don't want me even more after my outburst, but I'm surprised at what I'm met with.

Stef looks exhausted and defeated and Lena looks as if she's about to burst into tears.

_You caused this_.

And now I need to fix it.

"I'm sorry."

Stef looks at me, her eyes emotionless. "Are you?"

I don't know why I'm surprised – I shouldn't expect them to forgive me just like that. "Yes. I'm sorry for even questioning your decisions. It's just…I don't find it easy to trust people. But I know what I want. I want to come home with you."

"Do you really?" Stef barks, and I feel myself clamming up, but I've come this far; I can't wimp out now.

"_Stef_!" Lena hisses, and I look up at her. Her lips twitch slightly, a small smile creeping onto her face, encouraging me to keep going.

"Yes. I do."

"Really? Because it kind of sounded like you want to get sent back to Haven Falls."

I gulp, cursing myself for digging such a difficult hole to get out of. "No. I don't ever want to go back there."

Stef's eyes flicker for a second before they soften, and she lets out a barely audible 'good'.

_But that doesn't mean I'm not scared about coming home_, I want to say, but I can't get the words to leave my mouth. Not yet anyway. There's still a long way to go until I let them into _that_ corner of my hectic mind.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry for the shortness - there's going to be a lot more going on next chapter but I thought it was best to get this stuff out the way first. _

_I'm not sure how long this story is going to be, but this is definitely just the start of Callie's battle against her demons, so you can expect quite a bit more from me. _

_Anyhow, please review - it motivates me to write faster, and it really means a lot to know people are actually reading the stuff I write!_

_Next chapter: Callie comes home, Stef and Lena have a little 'disagreement' and some of the siblings have a lot to say about Callie's return. _

_Thanks again - K :)_


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